


The Sun Also Rises

by EclecticMuse



Series: Deep Impact AU [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (Very mild), Affection, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Mild Angst, Mother-Son Relationship, New Relationship, Post-Apocalypse, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sexual Themes, Sleepy Cuddles, Teen Romance, The Price of Fame, Unresolved Sexual Tension, motherly advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-27 21:09:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticMuse/pseuds/EclecticMuse
Summary: Two months after narrowly escaping the end of the world, Fitz and Jemma work on rebuilding their lives, while also learning to navigate their new relationship. A sequel to 'The Universe We Hold Inside'.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to revisit these kids for awhile, and what better time than now, when we are in desperate need of some fluff? So here you go, a little peek into their lives post-comet. I hope you enjoy. :) This is one of what will likely be four chapters (the whole thing is finished, I'm just not sure how it will divide up). A huge thanks go out to my betas, somefitzsimmonsfan, lettertoelise, and unbreakablejemmasimmons, who are awesome and saved me from gross overusage of certain words. ;) You guys are the best! As always, comments are my lifeblood.

The hot summer sun beat down on Fitz’s back. Sweat trickled uncomfortably down his neck and underneath the collar of his shirt. A shimmer rising off the black pavement mixed with the smoke billowing from the hoods of overheated cars to create a haze that made navigation tricky. Still, he pressed on, weaving his motorbike through the surrounding morass of stalled and unmoving vehicles, tuning out the blaring horns and shouts of angry drivers. He was on a mission.

_Jemma. I have to find Jemma. Where is Jemma?_

But no matter where he looked, he couldn’t find the girl he loved, the girl he’d risked his life to turn around and go back for. Though he saw many cars matching the red sedan that belonged to her parents--they seemed to be everywhere, in fact--unfamiliar faces looked out at him from every window. Over and over again he thought he’d finally found them, only to be disappointed. Still, he didn’t give up. His heart sank, his hope dwindled, but his determination never flagged.

Just as he drove away from yet another false alarm, a deafening crack split the sky. Stopping the motorbike, Fitz looked up to see an enormous fireball streak by overhead. Dread settled heavy in his stomach. The comet he’d discovered, the chunk named after him-- _Fitz_ \--had entered Earth’s atmosphere. He had to hurry; time was running out.

But the comet barely had a chance to disappear over the horizon before a deep, shuddering roar made the ground tremble beneath him. Turning to look back the way he’d come, Fitz saw a colossal wave rushing towards him: impossibly high, towering over the surrounding hills, destroying everything in its path. Around him, people flung open their car doors to run away in terror, but Fitz stood his ground, the motorbike’s engine idling beneath him. He knew there was no place he could go, nowhere he could reach in time to save himself. Instead, he took a deep breath as his heart splintered in two.

“I’m sorry, Jemma,” he said, and screwed his eyes shut just before the wave slammed into him.

-:-

Fitz jerked awake with a gasp, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. Disoriented, he fumbled for a moment in the dark in a panic, reaching, grasping, searching for any sign of--

His hand brushed against something, and he stilled. An arm, sleep-warm and soft. Dizzy with relief, he let out a long breath as he rolled over to look at the person beside him.

It was Jemma. She was sleeping peacefully, facing him on her side, undisturbed by his nightmare. And that was all it had been--just a nightmare. But it was one that had plagued him frequently in the two months since they’d survived the end of the world, and it still had an unnerving effect on him, every time.

Slowly, lest he wake Jemma, Fitz sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed as he tried to slow the frantic beating of his heart. The clock on the bedside table read 3:02 a.m. Breathing deeply, he pressed the heels of his palms to his closed eyes. It was always difficult for him to shake off the effects of these bad dreams. They felt so _real._

Failing to find Jemma before the wave hit was the most common one he had, but there were variations on the theme. Sometimes he found her, only to have the wave rip her away from him. Sometimes, the motorbike ran out of gas before they reached the mountains and they had no choice but to cling to each other as the end came. Less frequently, the larger chunk of the comet hit, too, plunging the world into darkness and making their journey back to the Ark impossible. They’d stumble through the dust for what felt like an eternity before they eventually succumbed to starvation or exposure.

The main theme threading through them all was failure. He’d fail to find Jemma, fail to get them out in time, fail to keep the promise to his mother that he’d make it back, safe and sound. It was a reminder of just how close they’d come to actually dying, and it never failed to leave Fitz with a bitter taste in his mouth.

He’d just taken a swig from the water bottle he kept on the nightstand when he felt the mattress shift behind him, and heard Jemma’s sleepy voice. “Fitz?”

He twisted to look back at her; in the dim glow of the amber nightlights, he could see that her eyes were half-open, blinking groggily, and she’d reached a hand across the bed toward him. He closed his own hand over hers, giving it a brief squeeze. “Hey. I’m here.”

“Another nightmare?”

Fitz hesitated before answering. “Yeah.”

One of the first things they’d done after reaching the Ark was have a frank conversation about _them_ , how they felt and where they stood, and how to proceed from there. It had been just as awkward and painful as it had been thrilling, revealing all of their feelings and misgivings and fears. One of the things they’d agreed upon was the need for honesty, in the hopes of avoiding another situation like the one where they’d each thought their love was unrequited. Sometimes Fitz found that agreement hard to honor. He’d always kept his thoughts and feelings close to his chest, and hated to feel like he was placing any sort of burden on Jemma when she already had so much on her shoulders.

A frown creased Jemma’s forehead at his pause, and she turned her hand around to tug on his wrist. “Come here.”

Fitz went obligingly, sliding back beneath the covers and allowing her to pull him close, until their foreheads were pressed together and their limbs were tangled. As she nuzzled drowsily against his nose, stroking her palm over his cheek, he took another deep breath and let himself find comfort in her nearness, her presence.

This wasn’t an unusual thing for them to do, because Jemma had nightmares, too. He would often wake up in the middle of the night to find her calling out for her parents, or for him, tears streaming down her face. He’d wrap her up in his arms the same way she was doing to him now, and he’d whisper reassurances and press soft kisses over her face until she stopped shaking and remembered she was safe. The comet had left lasting scars on both of them.

“I’m here,” Jemma whispered before gently kissing him. “I’m safe.” Just like he knew what she dreamed about, she knew what plagued him, too. “Which one was it this time?”

Fitz swallowed, closing his eyes. “Couldn’t find you,” he mumbled.

Jemma hummed, and kissed him again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

This wasn’t in violation of their pact to communicate; he would just be repeating a story she’d already heard dozens of times. Besides, the solace he found in her arms was already making him relax, fatigue blurring the edges of his thoughts. If he gave in, he’d be back asleep in minutes.

“Just checking,” Jemma whispered. She brushed yet another kiss over his lips. “I love you.”

Fitz let her words--said so many times by now, but still new and fresh and exciting--settle over him, lighting a warmth in his heart. They were here. They were together. They were safe.

“I love you, too,” he murmured, and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him until she was settled comfortably against his side. She made a soft noise, squeezing her arm around his waist, and he kissed the crown of her head. Then he let her weight and the reassuring rise and fall of her breathing lull him back to sleep. If he was lucky, there would be no more nightmares tonight.

-:-  

When Fitz woke up again later in the morning, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Living underground without windows had its drawbacks, and the lack of a visible day/night cycle was one of them. Fortunately, they didn’t have an alarm set; it was Sunday, and they could sleep in as long as they liked.

They’d shifted again during the night. Jemma was still on her side but facing away from him now, and he was curled around her back, one arm thrown over her waist and his forehead pressed against the nape of her neck. It was a familiar position for him to wake up in.

He’d never been an especially tactile person, but necessity had bred habit. The effects of their shared trauma had made both Fitz and Jemma more than a bit clingy with each other, especially in those first days after arriving at the Ark. He had an irrational fear of letting her out of his sight, and she always wanted to be touching him somehow: fingers entwined, leaning into his shoulder, a hand on his knee, clutching him tightly as they slept. And while sometimes Fitz worried about what it all meant, that maybe they were being unhealthy, he couldn’t deny that Jemma’s near-constant presence soothed his fears of losing her again. Still, it was early days. They had plenty of time now to heal.

At first Fitz had thought that sharing a room, much less a bed, would take some adjustment, but their desire to be close and the need for reassurance had made it surprisingly easy. Already, he wondered how he’d ever managed to get a wink of sleep without Jemma by his side.

But there were some things he’d still yet to adjust to and master. One of those things was dealing with his inevitable morning erections with a cuddly bed partner thrown into the mix.

He had one now, pressing into Jemma’s bum, and even though his sleep-fogged brain was screaming for him to curl a hand over her hip and grind against her, easing that ache, he resisted. Instead, he reluctantly pulled away from her as carefully as he could and rolled over onto his back, hoping she hadn’t already woken up and felt him. He would be absolutely mortified if she ever did.

Because despite being married and fully in love with each other, they hadn’t done much yet physically. That didn’t mean they were cold; Jemma was more free with her affection than Fitz could have ever hoped for, holding his hand outside their bunk and frequently showering him with kisses when they were alone. But aside from several instances of heated snogging and one amazing makeout session on her birthday where she’d let him touch her breasts above her clothes, they hadn’t done anything else.

Fitz attributed it to the youth of this phase of their relationship. He’d never had a girlfriend before and he barely knew what he was doing, navigating his new role as husband with careful hesitance. Jemma hadn’t really given any real indication that she wanted to go further yet and he, still in awed disbelief that she even loved him to begin with, didn’t dare push for more. He desperately wanted to, though. He’d already imagined what it would be like to be with her, even before they got married, and sometimes felt like he was ready. The last thing he wanted to do, however, was make her uncomfortable with the evidence of his desire, so whenever they kissed or cuddled, he made very sure to keep his hips angled well away from hers.

Most of the time he was able to cool down just fine on his own. Separating himself from her or easing down their snogging to something more tame usually did the trick. But he was only human, and sometimes it was a struggle to rein in his desire. More than once, he’d had to relieve himself of the tension while in the shower.  

He always felt a vague sort of creeping shame when he did it, as if he were using Jemma without her consent. But to him, it was better than the alternative--Jemma knowing he was unable to keep himself in check.

Lying on his back in bed, making a face as he tried and failed to keep all of those pesky thoughts from taking over his mind, Fitz thought this might be another morning spent taking an extra-long shower. He sighed before looking over at the clock. It was just after 9 a.m.; he’d slept long enough. Better to get things taken care of before Jemma fully woke up.

He got out of bed and stretched for a moment, then pulled clean clothes from their dresser and grabbed his toiletry basket. As he headed for the door, he cast a look at Jemma, still sound asleep. He might struggle with the current boundaries of their physical relationship, but on the whole, he really was content just to be by her side, to know that she loved him in return. Nothing would ever change that.  

-:-

Later in the afternoon, Fitz let Jemma go ahead of him into the hall outside their bunk, then shut and locked the door behind them. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and gave him a small smile. “See you in a couple of hours?”

He nodded as he slipped his keys into his pocket. “Yep. Meeting back here before dinner, right?” At Jemma’s answering nod, he pursed his lips. “Hope it goes by quick, I’m bloody starving.”

She laughed quietly and trailed a light hand up his arm. “Of course you are. Why am I not surprised?” When Fitz only rolled his eyes at her teasing, she squeezed his arm before letting go. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” Happiness washed through him the same way it did every time she said those words, and--looking around first to make sure they were alone--he leaned in to give her a brief, but heartfelt, kiss. “Have fun.”

Jemma nodded, and as one they turned to go their separate ways down the hall. Fitz only looked back to watch her go once.

Life at the Ark followed a set routine, and they had quickly settled into theirs. On weekdays, they attended classes with all of the other teenagers from their section, starting their senior year of high school on time as if their lives had never been interrupted. As students, they had their evenings and weekends mostly free, but they both had elected to volunteer for activities that would keep them occupied and contribute to the well-being of the Ark. Jemma was shadowing the scientists and gamekeepers in charge of the animals and plants being kept at the Ark, learning how to care for them and helping prepare some of them for transport back to sanctuaries and zoos on the West Coast. Fitz was interning in the technology lab, helping to keep all of the electrical and computer systems running smoothly, and contributing to the development of new support tech.

One of those projects had been keeping him quite busy for the past couple of weeks. It had been an idea he’d submitted himself not long after he’d started working in the lab; Jemma had been his inspiration, as she often was. Early on, she had lamented the lack of windows in their bunk, saying she missed the sunrise. Then, being the consummate scientist and scholar that she was, she’d cited research stating that defined circadian rhythms and day/night cycles helped to regulate moods. Fitz had been moved to suggest a pilot program to boost morale at the Ark--he could design a prototype picture window showing a digital image that could transition through day and night in real time, complete with sun and moonlight, to help simulate a set day.

His prototype was almost finished, and Fitz couldn’t wait to get it back to their bunk to show Jemma. He’d kept the project a secret so he could surprise her with it, and hopefully help lift her spirits. She had been doing about as well as could be expected given what she’d been through, but he knew she was far from healed. He would do anything he could to make her smile or warm her heart.

Just as he’d hoped, working on the window made the hours pass quickly, and before he knew it, Fitz had completed all of his work on it. There was just enough time left before dinner to get it installed. The lab sent a giant of a man named Mack to help him get it back to his bunk.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help getting it set up?” Mack asked, giving both Fitz and the window a dubious once-over. “I don’t mind.”

Fitz bristled slightly at what he took to be the other man’s clear dismissal of his capabilities. He might be slight, but he wasn’t weak. “No, no, I’ve got it...I’ll be fine,” he said. He chewed on his lip as he stood, hands on his hips, looking from the window frame to the wall and trying to gauge the best way to get it installed on his own. “I’ll figure it out.”

Mack raised his eyebrows. “So you plan on getting it lifted and placed against the wall _and_ drilling in the bolts all by yourself?” When Fitz glared at him, he lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Look, I’m just saying, this is at least a two-man job. I don’t want you to hurt yourself or damage it.”

Sighing, Fitz forced himself to take a mental step back. He could almost hear both Jemma and his mother chiding him, telling him not to be so difficult and prideful. Realistically, it would be hard--nigh impossible--for him to get the window accurately positioned on the wall and bolted down himself. And it wasn’t that he disliked Mack; he was perfectly friendly, didn’t act starstruck, and had always been polite and helpful whenever they’d crossed paths in the tech lab. It was just that Fitz had always been deeply wary of people he didn’t know well. It was a trait left over from his unhappy childhood, exacerbated by his sudden thrust into the spotlight following his discovery of the comet.

Fitz briefly closed his eyes and let his shoulders slump. “Alright, I--I guess I could use the help. Yeah.” He rubbed at the back of his neck before looking up at Mack. “Think you can hold it steady while I get the bolts drilled?”

“Absolutely,” Mack said, grinning, and stepped forward to pick up the window.

They worked quickly, in a comfortable silence. Mack didn’t try to chat him up beyond what was necessary in order to complete their job, and Fitz was grateful for it. As he held the drill Mack had brought with both hands, getting the window secured to the wall, his mind flashed back to a similar situation, only one where the roles had been reversed: helping Jemma’s father put bars over the windows of their house back in Richmond. That had been the day he’d asked Jemma to marry him.

The memories mixed bittersweet in his head, the warmth of Jemma’s reaction to his proposal butting up against the guilt that he’d blown off Mr. Simmons so quickly. He wished he’d spent more time talking to him, and to Jemma’s mother. He knew his guilt was misplaced, that he hadn’t done anything wrong and there was no way he could have known then how things would ultimately play out, but it was still there. Hindsight was always smarter and filled with regret and should-haves.

Fitz made a satisfied grunt as he drilled in the last bolt. Once they were certain the window was secure, both he and Mack stood back to admire it.

“Hold on,” Fitz said, digging his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. “Let me just--”

His fingers moved swiftly over the screen, bringing up the app he’d designed to control the window. After a few taps, the window display lit up with its default view, a crystal clear ocean and a tropical beach. Syncing the display to run in time with the atomic clock the Ark used, the artificial sun moved to sink low on the horizon, casting orange and pink hues across the digital clouds and bathing the room in warm light.

“Looks good,” Mack said, crossing his arms with a pleased smile. “I bet Jemma will love it.”

“You think so?” Fitz asked hopefully.

Mack nodded. “Yeah. It’s a great idea you’ve got here, and I hope the lab approves it for production. Wouldn’t mind having one myself.”

Fitz nodded, smiling a bit as he looked back down at his phone. “I hope so, too.”

Mack gathered up his tools and said goodbye, leaving to head back to the lab. Fitz was still standing there, fiddling with the app controls on his phone, when he heard a key turn in the door lock a few minutes later.

He looked up to see Jemma opening the door, looking tired but happy. “Oh, good, you’re already here,” she said, smiling at him as she came inside. “I might actually be hungrier than you right now--” Her eyes tracked past him to the window, and her words faltered. “What’s this?” she asked. The door clicked shut behind her.

Smiling a bit nervously, Fitz took a step back so she could better see the display. “Surprise?”

Jemma’s eyes were wide as she came slowly forward, barely paying attention to her bag as she dropped it to the floor next to the desk. “Is this...is it because I--”

“You said you missed the sunrise, yeah,” Fitz said. “Or just the sun.” He was drinking in her reactions, from the way her mouth hung slightly open to the brightness of her eyes as she took in the tropical sunset before them. “I thought that maybe--um, maybe it might help cheer you up a bit.”

Jemma tore her gaze away from the window to look up at him, her eyes glassy. “You did this just for me?” she breathed.

Fitz felt himself flush a bit at the naked emotion writ across her face, and he ducked his head slightly. “Well--not--not _just_ for you, I, uh, I submitted it as a pilot program--I thought maybe it could help other people, too--and this is just a prototype--” Realizing he was downplaying her importance to the project, and possibly making himself look thoughtless, he swallowed quickly and rushed to add, “But you were the inspiration for it, yeah.”  

She smiled and reached up to rest a hand against his arm, leaning into him, her head on his shoulder. “Is this the only view it has?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, not at all.” Fitz held up his phone. “I made an app to control all the different functions, like image, brightness, even some atmospheric conditions like clouds or rain or snow. And since I wrote it, I can do a fair bit of customization for us.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “One option is that we could set it to look like back home, if you wanted, like the skyline of Richmond or our old neighborhood.”

The light in Jemma’s eyes dimmed slightly as she frowned and her hand went slack on his arm.

Having anticipated that reaction--it was still too soon for her to deal with many reminders of their old life--Fitz nudged her gently with his elbow. “But! I’ve got another option that I think you’ll really like.” He tapped a button on the phone app, and the image before them changed. Now it showed a long, narrow lake in a pastoral valley, nestled between green, forested hills, the sun just disappearing behind the tallest of them. The sunset was brilliant, shot through with deep oranges and golds, fading into the inky blues and purples of twilight.

Next to him, Jemma gasped, her head lifting from his shoulder, and her hold on his arm tightened again. “That’s...that’s Perthshire, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice tinged with wonder.

“Yep.” Before, back home in Richmond, she had frequently mentioned the Scottish countryside as a place she had enjoyed visiting with her parents as a child before they moved to the States. It was only after they’d made it to the Ark that she’d told him, quiet and tangled together one night beneath the blankets of their bed, that it had been a place she’d always envisioned them settling down in one day. Looking at her face now, Fitz knew he’d made the right decision. “Do you like it?”

Jemma took in a deep, shaky breath. “Oh, Fitz--” She turned into him, winding her arms tightly around his waist and burying her face in his neck. “It’s perfect. I love it. I love _you_.”     

Her voice sounded watery, and Fitz twisted slightly to toss his phone onto the end of the bed before properly wrapping his arms around her, settling his cheek against her hair. He was glad she couldn’t see his face; he was blinking rapidly, feeling a bit more emotional than the situation probably warranted. Sometimes he still struggled with accepting the depth of Jemma’s love for him; he’d been so sure she didn’t return his feelings for such a long time, and it was a hard thing to unlearn.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said quietly after a moment. “I can put the app on your phone, too, so you can change it to whatever you like, whenever you like.”

“I think this will do for now,” Jemma murmured back. “We can almost pretend that we’re actually there.” Then she tightened her arms around him before leaning back just enough to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “But can it wait until after dinner? If we don’t hurry, the canteen will close before we get there.”

Fitz laughed as he let go of her. “I can’t believe you’re having to convince _me_ to eat food. Or that you want it more than I do. This is a landmark day, you should make a note of it in your journal.”

Jemma laughed, too. “Oh, shut up,” she said as she gave him a light shove, but there was no heat behind it. “The real landmark day will be the one where your unnatural metabolism finally gives out. You’re lucky they’re not too strict with the rations here. I can’t imagine how awful you’d become if you had to severely limit your caloric intake.”

“Why,” said Fitz as he pocketed his phone and headed for the door, “are you always so cruel to me like this?” But he was still grinning as Jemma followed him out into the hall and he locked the door behind them again.

“Because it’s true,” she replied, and Fitz’s heart leapt to see a spark of her old mischievous light return to her eyes. “A hungry Fitz is an unbearable Fitz.”

“Is not,” he grumbled good-naturedly as Jemma took his hand and they started off toward the canteen together.

Jemma squeezed his hand. “Is so.”

Fitz stayed in high spirits as they walked through the halls of their section. He was looking forward to a good dinner--the food at the Ark wasn’t exactly gourmet, but it was definitely passable--and then maybe visiting his mother for a little while, followed by spending the rest of the evening with Jemma. They could fiddle with the picture window more, or watch TV, or find interesting things to read to each other online, or even just cuddle. He wouldn’t mind cuddling. Cuddling was nice; relaxing with Jemma in his arms always felt like the perfect end to a day and soothed his irrational need to keep her within arm’s reach.

However, that good mood disappeared as soon as they approached the canteen and saw someone unfamiliar lurking near the entrance, whose face lit up as she saw them coming. Fitz averted his eyes and sped up, trying to make it through the door first, but the woman was already blocking his path, her face set with purpose. “Excuse me, Leo Fitz?” she asked in accented English. “Can I have a moment of your time?”

Fitz had hoped that the circumstances of life at the Ark would dim his celebrity, or make people less interested in his life now that the world was focused on rebuilding and recovering. Much to his dismay, he was wrong. If anything, he found himself harassed and bothered by reporters, journalists, photographers, and regular civilians just as much as he had when the news of the comet had first gone public. He considered it a blessing they didn’t have land lines in their bunks, so he didn’t have to worry about a constantly ringing phone. That didn’t stop the more persistent people from finding out their bunk number and knocking on the door, or staking out the entrances to the lab or his school classrooms or the canteen, like this woman had done.

Unable to dodge her, he stopped and pressed his mouth down into a thin line, refusing to make eye contact. “Yeah. A moment,” he said shortly.

The woman didn’t seem fazed by his attitude. “Thank you. I’m Elena Rodriguez,” she said. It was only when he felt Jemma nudge him with her shoulder that Fitz took Elena’s proffered hand, giving it one firm pump before quickly letting go. “I was a photojournalist with the Miami Herald before Impact Day; now I work for the Los Angeles Times as a sort of embedded reporter here at the Ark.” She smiled winsomely, but it did little to endear her to him. “I wanted to ask if you would be interested in sitting down with me for an hour or so to discuss everything that’s happened since the impact. The world is still very much interested in your story.”

Fitz fought the urge to roll his eyes. Her plea was typical of all the other ones he’d received. “Not interested, thanks,” he muttered, and moved to walk past her, pulling Jemma along with him, but Elena stepped back in his path.

“Wait,” she said. “You’ve had a lot of interview and appearance requests, yes? And you’ve turned them all down.”

He gave a terse nod.

Elena smiled again. “I know you value your privacy, Fitz. Consider this: if you grant me an exclusive, I can use my pull with the other journalists here to get them to leave you alone, at least for a little while.”

The idea was tempting, he wouldn’t deny that. But it wasn’t really anything he hadn’t heard from any of the others. Picking up on his reticence, Elena looked past him to Jemma, who was still standing next to him, tightly holding his hand. “Is this your wife?” she asked, nodding at her. “Jemma, isn’t it?”

Frowning even deeper and feeling more than a bit protective--they’d never made a formal announcement regarding their marriage, so Elena had obviously done her homework--Fitz took a small step to the side, as if to block Jemma from view, but she squeezed his hand hard and lifted her chin. “Yes,” she replied evenly. “Jemma Simmons.”

This time, when Elena smiled, it was softer and gentler. “You don’t have to talk to me. But consider doing it with someone, anyone. Everyone lost something that day, whether it was a home, a job, family…” Her mouth twisted sadly, and Fitz briefly wondered what it was she had lost. “I think we could all use a little hope right now, and your story would be perfect.” She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to him. “Here’s where you can find me if you reconsider.”

  
She gave them one last smile before turning and walking away down the corridor. Sighing, Fitz opened up her note to see what it said. _Elena Rodriguez, Yellow 173,_ followed by a phone number. He read it over twice before folding it back up and shoving it in his pocket, then pulled Jemma toward the canteen entrance. He could feel her eyes on him and knew she wanted to say something, but he was determined to put the whole thing out of his mind. He wasn’t going to let another invasive reporter ruin his entire evening. Fortunately, Jemma followed him inside without saying anything about it.


	2. Chapter 2

It was only later in the evening that Jemma brought the subject of the journalist back up. They were sitting up in bed watching the late edition news out of Los Angeles, his arm curled around her shoulders as she snuggled up against his side. During a commercial break, she shifted slightly and tapped her fingers where they rested on his chest.

“Have you given that interview offer any thought?” she asked.

Fitz made a face. “I’m trying not to,” he mumbled. “Bloody nosy, if you ask me. Every last one of them. Why can’t they just leave me alone?”

Jemma sighed, then traced her index finger in a light circle over his t-shirt. “She didn’t seem to be as bad as some of the others have been. She knew not to call you Leo, at least. Maybe that should count for something.”

He huffed a dry laugh. “It only means she did her reading before she cornered us. And she knew _your_ name, too. And that we’re married.” His face collapsed back into a frown. “I don’t--I don’t really like that.”

It was Jemma’s turn to laugh, but hers was gentle and fondly exasperated. “Well, it’s not like we’re a secret,” she said. “She could have looked our names up on the room registry, or noticed our rings. It’s simple logic. Besides...you know, your mum told me that word of what you did has gotten around.”

Fitz resisted the urge to sink his chin down into his chest and sulk. Instead, he sighed and turned his face to brush a kiss against her forehead. “I know. I really wish it hadn’t, but...can’t help that now.”

It was a testament to Jemma’s thorough understanding of him as a person that she didn’t take his crabbiness or desire to keep their relationship a secret as a reflection of his true feelings. She knew what really troubled him. Going on that, she tightened her arm around his waist and burrowed even deeper into his side.

“I know you don’t want everyone coming after me the way they bother you,” she said carefully. “I know you’re just trying to protect me. But I think it’s inevitable, really, the longer we’re here, the longer we just--live our lives. People are going to realize who I am to you. I don’t think of it as a bad thing. Dealing with nosy journalists or whoever is something I am more than willing to bear if it means I get to stay with you.”

A drop of warmth pulsed over Fitz’s heart. “Yeah?” he asked quietly, uncertain.

“Yeah.” Jemma rubbed her foot briefly along his calf. “And I really do think you should consider that interview. Maybe she was telling the truth, maybe she actually _can_ get everyone else to lay off of you for awhile. It’s a nice thought, isn’t it?” When he nodded, she added, “And that way, it will be over and done with. People won’t want to just repeat the same story, over and over.”

Fitz laughed again. “That didn’t stop them when it all first started. Don’t you remember how many times I had to tell how I discovered the comet to begin with?”

He could feel Jemma smile. “True. But still...it’s a nice thought.”

They sank into silence for awhile, their attention turned back to the television. Fitz rubbed slow, absent-minded circles into Jemma’s shoulder with his thumb, finding comfort in the warm weight of her against him, and considered her thoughts on the whole interview thing. She _did_ have a few good points, and maybe getting one article out there would make everyone else pull back for a little while. The idea really was tempting.

A few minutes later, Jemma spoke again as if their conversation hadn’t stopped. “You have to admit, it _would_ probably make for a nice story,” she murmured.

Fitz frowned distractedly. “Hmm?”

“What you did for me. It’s rather romantic, don’t you think?”

Fitz’s face scrunched up, and he shifted a bit so he could look down at her. “What? You mean, leaving guaranteed safety and running straight into certain death? It was _stupid_.”

Jemma shook her head. She’d moved so that she could look up at him, too, and her expression was earnest. “It’s the grand romantic gesture, Fitz. You overcame seemingly insurmountable odds to rescue the woman you love, with little thought for your own well-being. It’s the stuff of fiction.” She dropped her gaze to where her hand rested over his heart, and her voice turned quiet. “Sometimes I still can’t believe you did all of that. For _me_.”

Fitz swallowed, feeling slightly uncomfortable under the reverence in her tone. “Well, what else was I gonna do?” he mumbled, shrugging. “I had to come back. Getting on that bus and leaving you was the worst mistake of my life.”

“Letting you go was the worst mistake of mine,” she whispered.

A lump rising in his throat, Fitz reached over so that both of his arms were wrapped around her, and held her tight. He didn’t understand how that could be her greatest regret when it still would have meant she’d lose her parents, but he didn’t want to question her. He knew it was a sensitive topic. Jemma didn’t give him time to consider anything else, though, because she pushed herself up to his level. Cupping his jaw in her hand, she breathed his name and leaned in to kiss him.

It was ardent, her mouth firm and insistent against his, and all Fitz could do was fold her more securely in his arms and accept the love she gave him, returning it in full. He poured himself into the heated slide of their lips together, revelling in the feeling of her fingers threading through his hair as she pulled him closer, angling his mouth open to deepen the kiss.

He hummed quietly at the velvet touch of her tongue on his, and followed her down as she sank back onto the bed, unwilling to relinquish the thrill of her kisses--but, as always, made sure to keep his hips well away. It really was one of his favorite things in the world, kissing Jemma, and he never wanted to stop. They might not have been very adventurous so far physically, but they’d kissed enough to have a good idea of what the other liked, and Fitz used that knowledge to his advantage. When they finally broke for air, he trailed his mouth over her cheek to her ear, pressing tiny kisses there; he felt gratified when he heard her breath hitch, and her fingers tightened in his hair. Then he laid a line of soft, open-mouthed kisses down the slope of her neck to her pulse point, and sucked gently on the tender skin there.

Jemma shivered, sending hot tingles rushing down his spine, and, after a long moment, she whispered his name. Feeling emboldened, he scraped his teeth over her skin, nipping at her neck even harder.

Letting go of his hair, she pushed at his shoulder a bit. “ _Fitz_.”

Something in her tone immediately squashed the heat building within him, and he pushed away from her, his eyes wide. “What?” he rasped.

Jemma was a sight to behold, her hair splayed across the pillow, her lips swollen and pink from his attention, her eyes just as wide as his--but her face was contrite. “Just--if we don’t stop, you’ll leave a mark,” she said, rather lamely, her cheeks flushing.

“Oh.” Fitz blinked. “Oh, right.” He sat up fully, looking back at the television to hide his own burning cheeks and resisting the urge to shake out his limbs, as if that would chase his desire away. But Jemma followed him, sitting up just as quickly, and placed a hand over his where it was pressed into the mattress. Before she could speak, however, he pulled away and huffed a stilted laugh, then turned to flutter his hands over her, nervously adjusting the strap of her camisole where it’d fallen down her shoulder. “No marks. Can’t have that,” he said, and gave her a smile that felt more like a grimace.

(He _hated_ himself for always getting so worked up, for feeling disappointment when their kisses inevitably went nowhere, for wanting so much more than he had a right to.)

He could feel Jemma watching him for a moment, and he wished he knew what she was thinking, even as he hoped that she didn’t know what he was thinking. Then she ran her hand up his arm to gently wrap around his bicep, and leaned forward to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his cheek. He smiled a little despite himself, tilting his face into her touch. When she pulled away, she still looked like she wanted to say something, but in the end all she did was rest her forehead against his temple and ask, “Ready for bed, you think?”

“Yeah, I guess.” The news was drawing to a close, and it was almost time for curfew, anyway. Jemma leaned back to get settled against her pillow as he switched off the TV and then turned off his lamp. After he got comfortable and the blankets drawn up, Jemma scooted over to take her place curled against his side, and he wrapped his arm around her like he always did.

“Goodnight, Fitz,” Jemma murmured, tilting her face up to give his neck a brief kiss. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he said, and kissed her forehead in return. Then he let out a slow breath as he felt Jemma relax against him, but he didn’t close his eyes. Instead, he watched the light of the fake moon from their picture window stretch across the bed. Sleep would take a while to come with the sense memory of Jemma warm, pliant, and responsive beneath him still haunting his brain.

-:-

A few days later, Fitz and Jemma were working on their homework in peaceful silence when Jemma’s phone buzzed.

He didn’t pay much attention as she leaned over the books and papers spread across their bed to pick it up; it was probably one of the new friends she’d made at school or the biology labs, or perhaps even his mother. But when Jemma swiped her thumb across the screen and immediately gasped, he raised his head to look up at her.

“Fitz!” she cried, wide eyes trained on her phone even as she waved for him to come to her. “It’s Callie!”

“Seriously?” Fitz dropped his pen on the desk and immediately crossed over to the bed. They’d tried several times to get in touch with their friend from back home, who had gone with her family to her uncle’s ranch in Montana to ride out the storm, but Jemma’s texts had yet to go through. There were any number of reasons why they couldn’t make contact, not the least of which was the shattered infrastructure of the eastern United States, so finally hearing from her was a huge relief.

“Yes!” Jemma scooted over on the bed to make room for Fitz to sit beside her, and together they leaned in to read the message on her phone.

_[Callie] hey Jemma! it’s Callie. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say anything. phone reception out here sucks but we think things finally got fixed, so here I am. how are you? are you okay? where are you? I’m still in Montana. have you heard from Fitz? I tried checking the news for him but there’s nothing except one little article saying he’s at the Ark. I bet you’re going nuts without him. anyway...I really hope you get this. I hope you’re okay._

Jemma’s eyes danced as she looked up at Fitz. “Should I tell her? About us, that I’m here with you?”

He shrugged, even as he smiled a bit. Callie was one person he didn’t mind knowing about his personal life. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

Grinning, Jemma quickly typed out a response.

_[Jemma] Callie! I’m so glad to hear from you! we’ve been trying to text too but nothing has gone through. I’m fine, I’m here at the Ark with Fitz. very happy to hear you’re okay._

They watched anxiously as the little wheel that indicated her text was sending churned, until finally it turned into a check mark. Delivered. Then they waited for a reply.

_[Callie] JEMMA OMG THANK GOD you’re okay but woah wait a minute how are you at the Ark? did your number get pulled? LUCKY_

A brief shadow flickered in Jemma’s eyes, but she quickly shook it off, replacing it with a warm glow. She looked back at Fitz, smiling impishly, and he had the thought--that momentary flash aside--that he hadn’t seen her look so happy or excited since before the comet hit. “This is it,” she said. “This is when I tell her.”

Again, Fitz shrugged easily. “I trust her. Go ahead.”

Biting her lip to hide another smile, Jemma turned back to her phone.

_[Jemma] well, we haven’t made an official announcement yet or anything, not that we need to, but we have some good news. Fitz and I are married._

Callie’s reply wasn’t long in coming, a rapid-fire burst of texts.

 _[Callie] MARRIED???!!!_  
_[Callie] OMG OMG_  
 _[Callie] I can’t believe this I AM SO HAPPY for you two I knew this would happen!!_  
_[Callie] I_ _knew_ _it!!!_

“Oh, knew, did she?” Fitz said, bemused. “How could _she_ know when _we_ didn’t?”

Jemma gave him a fond look, shifting a bit on the bed as she did so. “Callie always did say you were madly in love with me; I just didn’t believe her. Maybe it was obvious to everyone but us. Maybe we were the only ones who couldn’t see it.”

Thinking back to the pep talk his mother had given him before the wedding ceremony, he considered that she was likely right. It was hard to feel bitter about missed time and opportunities, though, not with Jemma’s warm thigh pressed against his and her soft laughter filling his ears. Heartened by Callie’s excitement and feeling uncommonly charitable, he said, “We should take a picture for her. Maybe of our rings or something. You know, just as solid proof.”

Jemma beamed at him. “You? Want to take a picture?” She laughed again. “I think she’d rather see our faces, though.” She switched over to the camera app on her phone. “Are you willing to look incredibly cheesy and completely in love with me? We have to sell the romance.”

“Eurgh,” Fitz said, feigning disgust even as he laughed. But maybe it was the joy that came from sharing happy news with a friend that spurred him to turn his face toward Jemma’s just as she took the picture, pressing his lips to her cheek in a sweet kiss.

She gasped in surprise, and Fitz pulled away just as the photo came up on the phone screen. It _was_ cheesy--slightly off-center, Fitz’s eyes closed and mouth puckered, Jemma’s eyes wide and jaw dropped in a comic look of shocked delight. But it was also soft and warm, his affection for her clearly shining through, and Fitz accepted that this was a photo he was actually happy to take. It was a tangible piece of the love he felt for her, and that made it precious to him.

“Oh, she’s going to love this,” Jemma said as she sent Callie the picture. They waited again as the text sent, then breathed a sigh of relief when it finally went through. Once again, they didn’t have to wait very long for a reply.

 _[Callie] OMG OMG_  
_[Callie] you guys are so adorable I love it_  
 _[Callie] seriously I’m sitting here squealing and my mom is giving me funny looks_  
 _[Callie] I told you he loved you_  
_[Callie] DO YOU_ _BELIEVE_ _ME_ _NOW_ _JEMMA?_

Jemma smiled down at her phone, and murmured “Yes, I do,” even as she tapped the words out to text back. Then her lips twisted thoughtfully. “Does it ever just suddenly hit you, sometimes?” she asked. “That we’re actually married? That...after everything…”

Fitz watched as her words trailed off; then he shifted so he could rub a hand up and down her back. “At least once a day,” he replied quietly. Aware he was about to venture into brutally honest emotional territory, he leaned in to rest his forehead against her temple, swallowing thickly. “I’m still amazed that--that you actually love me. _Me_.”

“How could I not?” Jemma turned so their foreheads were pressed together, and her eyes as she looked at him were warm and shining. “You’re the most interesting person I know, _and_ you’re smart and brave, kind and funny. And handsome.” At his disbelieving scoff, she smiled and stretched to bat her nose against his. “You _are._ It was inevitable, really. Who could have known that when I was born in England and you in Scotland, that we would end up coming together thousands of miles away in Virginia? What were the odds? But you and me, every part of us, every molecule and atom, were meant to be together. I truly believe that.”

Fitz had to blink several times as he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. It wasn’t often that Jemma ever discussed her feelings, even now that they were together. _He_ was the romantic one, as she often reminded him. So hearing her say those words, so sweet and heartfelt and downright poetic, made all the love he felt for her rise up and lodge in his throat, expand his heart to near-bursting, and render him nearly speechless.

“You’re amazing,” he managed to choke out. “I’m so lucky. I love you.”

Jemma’s smile simply widened in reply, and she tilted her face in to give him a gentle, tender kiss. Not for the first time, Fitz wished he could adequately convey the depth of his love for her through this one act of affection, to somehow tell her and make her understand just how much she mattered to him. He hoped she knew.

The moment was interrupted by the buzz of Jemma’s phone in her hand, and they broke the kiss to look down at it in unison.

_[Callie] you should post that picture to Instagram. people would freak out_

Fitz groaned even as Jemma laughed, pulling away from her and swiping a hand across his eyes. “Christ, not bloody _Instagram_ ,” he complained. “I thought those days were over.”

“Oh, but think of all the girls I’d make jealous,” Jemma teased, clasping her phone between both hands and grinning. “I’ve taken famous Leo Fitz off the market.”

He wrinkled his nose in contempt, waving his hands at her and pretending to gag. “Ugh, Jemma. _No_. I was never even _on_ the market. It was always you.”

Jemma continued to smile as she tapped out another reply to Callie, no doubt promising to post the photo. “I know that _now_. But...remember when you did that town hall meeting and I told you I’d overheard some other girls from school talking?” When he nodded, she said, “Oh, I was _so_ jealous.”

Fitz scrunched his nose again, this time in confusion. “Really?”

She flushed slightly, looking down for a brief pause. “Terribly. I was...I felt so _possessive_. I could hear them talking about you, about the way you looked and what they wanted to _do_ to you and I...it was awful.” She tutted quietly. “I was worried you’d find out about it and it would all go to your head and you’d, I don’t know, you’d...leave me to go run off with one of _them_.”

He snorted gracelessly. The idea that he would have been interested in one of them was patently ridiculous. “Why were you worried?” he asked. “When did you ever see me pay _any_ attention to another girl besides you? Or Callie?”

“I don’t know!” Jemma toyed with her phone in her lap, her blush spreading. “It was completely irrational, but I couldn’t help it.”

A thought struck him then, and he pointed a finger at her. “Hey--you were always reading off everyone’s comments about me online! Why did you do that, if you thought I’d get a fat head?”

She looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Well, it _was_ funny to see your reaction to all of it. And I did like keeping tabs on them, and…” She lifted her chin primly. “Maybe it was a way for me to gauge what you thought of attention from the opposite gender.”

Fitz narrowed his eyes at her, but was unable to contain his grin of amusement. “Sneaky.”

Jemma smiled sweetly. “Wasn’t I?”

Finding her pleased smugness to be absolutely irresistible, Fitz leaned in close to kiss her once more, but--again--the moment was interrupted by the sound of crinkling paper. He looked down to see that he’d planted his hand on top of some of her advanced calculus notes, and that leaning his weight on it had crumpled it into the mattress.

“Oh, Christ, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, as Jemma cried out in horror and snatched the sheet up from where he’d jerked his hand away, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. “I didn’t ruin it, did I?”

Jemma shook her head as she ran her hand flat over the paper again. “No, no, it’s fine. A few small wrinkles won’t hurt it.” She blew out a breath, then looked up at him and smiled brightly. “So! What did you get for number twelve?”

Fitz blinked at her for a moment, more than a bit thrown by her sudden switch from flirtatious candor to full-on study mode. “I, uh--hmm. Let me get mine to double check.” He stood to go back to the desk, trying to stamp out his juvenile disappointment over feeling cheated out of a kiss.

-:-

The next Saturday found Fitz and Jemma standing outside of one of Orange 254’s empty classrooms, as Jemma fussed with his shirt collar. He was dressed in a smart button-down and tie with jeans while Jemma wore a borrowed sundress, as she was still working on building up her wardrobe from scratch.

They were there to meet with Elena Rodriguez. At Jemma’s gentle insistence, Fitz had finally agreed to grant her the exclusive interview she’d asked for, in the hopes that finally speaking publicly would placate the other reporters bothering him. They’d dressed nicely because Elena had expressed interest in taking a few photos of him to accompany her article, putting her photojournalism background to good use. It didn’t make Fitz any happier to do the interview--he hated having to pose for photos, as it left him feeling like an automaton--but if it made Jemma happy and got everyone else off his back, he was willing to endure it.

Jemma straightened the knot in his tie one last time, then smoothed her palms over his shoulders and down his arms to link her hands with his with a satisfied smile. “There. You look very handsome.”

Fitz tried not to huff, his mood as naturally sour and anxious as it had been before any other interview or appearance he’d done. Jemma didn’t deserve his grumpiness. “Thanks. It’s just--you sound like Vic. You know how obsessed she was with my image, or whatnot.” Jemma nodded, squeezing his hands, and he sighed. “I wish she were here.”

She gave him a reassuring smile. “I know.” It went unspoken between them, the knowledge that Victoria Hand likely had not made it out of Richmond in time to escape the deadly wave that had ravaged the East Coast. As far as they knew, she’d stayed until the very end; the last time they’d seen her had been a week before the evacuation. Fitz missed her; she’d intimidated the hell out of him and had frustrated him at times, but she’d been good at her job and had been a welcome barrier between him and all of the people clamoring for his attention. “But we’ll do the best we can,” Jemma added, drawing his focus back to her. She leaned up to press her forehead against his. “And I’ll be with you the entire time. You’ll be fine.”

“Right,” he murmured, breathing out slowly and trying to relax, drawing comfort from her presence. If he stayed as tense as he was now, he’d have a terrible headache later. “Everything’s fine. It’s...it’s just a chat.”

She batted her nose against his. “Right,” she echoed softly.

The door to the classroom opened and Elena appeared, her eyebrows raised in a question. Fitz and Jemma both jumped, startled, and took a step away from each other, but Jemma didn’t drop his hands.

“Are you ready to begin?” Elena asked.

Fitz nodded, and she stepped back to let the two of them pass through the door, then led them over to her little setup. She’d brought three chairs forward to the front of the classroom, separated by a small table: two on one side and one on the other.

“Thank you so much for giving me the chance to speak with you,” Elena said, gesturing for Fitz and Jemma to take a seat. “Again, I know you don’t like the press very much, so I won’t let this go any longer than you feel comfortable.” She gave them an easy smile as she took her own seat, and Fitz hesitantly gave her one back. As they got settled, Elena reached forward to set a small recording device on the table between them. “I’m going to record our conversation,” she said, nodding at the red light glowing on the side of the device. “But if it makes you nervous, try not to pay attention to it. Just pretend like we’re having a normal conversation.”

Fitz fought the urge to scowl. As if he would willingly bare his soul to a stranger under normal circumstances. But he swallowed, biting back a surly retort, and looked over at Jemma. She’d scooted her chair over so it butted up directly against his, and now she reached over to silently pull one of his hands into her lap, holding it between both of her own. She gave him a tiny smile of encouragement.

“Alright,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

“Great,” Elena said, smiling. Then she consulted the pad of paper she held on her lap. “The story of how you discovered the comet and everything that came after has already been covered well in-depth, so I won’t ask you about any of that. I’m more interested in the final days leading up to the comet’s impact, and your life here at the Ark.” She tapped her pen against the notepad before looking up at them. “When did you two get married?”

“July 14th,” Fitz answered automatically, then paused. “Um, just a few weeks before Impact Day.”

Elena nodded. “I see. Did you get married so Jemma would be allowed to come here with you? Her chances of being chosen in the lottery were very low.”

Fitz and Jemma exchanged a glance. They had agreed not to let on about the platonic nature of their relationship when they got married. They were afraid it might not reflect well on them, and Fitz was already aware that he had worked the system to suit his own ends. They felt it was a small white lie that would hurt no one.

“I married her because I love her,” Fitz said, earning him a gentle hand squeeze. “But...yeah. It was the only way she could come with me.”

Elena nodded again. “And you were both underage at the time, yes? Seventeen? You needed your parents’ permission.”

Both Jemma and Fitz nodded in reply, before Fitz remembered that they were being recorded. “Um--yeah,” he said.

Elena made a few marks on her paper, smiling faintly. “You didn’t make any type of formal announcement regarding the wedding,” she continued. “In fact, I don’t think it’s widely known outside of the Ark that you _are_ married. Was there a reason for that?”

Fitz looked at Jemma again, biting his lip. “Well, um--no, I mean, not any particular reason, I suppose; it wasn’t a secret--”

Suddenly all he could think of was the memory of Jemma taking off her wedding ring and sliding it onto the chain of the pendant necklace he’d made for her, of how she’d made him do the same and keep the ring hidden beneath his shirt. They _had_ kept it secret, in a way, because of people like Grant Ward--now there was someone he’d never expected to think of again--and he keenly remembered how much it had torn his heart apart to do so. The irony that he wished they could keep their marriage a secret now was not lost on him.

“But you didn’t want to talk to the press about it,” Elena supplied, breaking through his brief reverie.

“No,” Fitz said, shaking his head. “It’s--personal, and besides...there were other, bigger things going on.”

“Understandable,” Elena said. She scribbled something else on her pad. “Okay, let’s talk about the evacuation. I’m sure you’re aware that stories are going around. I’d like to help you clear the air, if you are willing.”

Fitz frowned, unsure he liked where her questions were headed, but in the end nodded for her to go ahead.

Elena recrossed her legs, looking back down at her notepad. “I was able to confirm that you and your mother arrived here at the Ark on military transport the afternoon of August 14th, but you never made it inside for orientation. What happened?”

“I left,” Fitz said plainly.

“Why?”

“Because…” He shrugged, looking down at his lap. “Because Jemma wasn’t with me.”

When Elena spoke again, her voice was quiet, almost gentle. “Why wasn’t she with you?”

Fitz looked back over to Jemma. This wasn’t his part of the story to tell, he thought, and silently asked her a question with his eyes.

She gave him a slight nod before turning to look at Elena, her fingers twisting around his hand, still held in her lap. “It was my parents,” she said, swallowing. “I didn’t want to leave my parents.”

“Because they were not selected in the lottery?” Elena asked.

Jemma shook her head. “We thought they would be able to come with us to the Ark, because they were family--my family. Fitz’s in-laws. Under the rules of the lottery and the pre-selected list, they should have been. At least, that’s what they told Fitz.” She gave him a brief look, a reminder that she didn’t blame him for what had happened. “But when the bus came to pick us up, they weren’t on the list. So--they couldn’t come.”

Elena nodded, looking sympathetic. “So you chose to stay with your parents, instead of your husband.”

Fitz narrowed his eyes, bristling at what he thought she was implying. Next to him, Jemma’s hand clenched around his, her nails biting into his skin. “It was an impossible decision,” she said, sounding faintly defensive. “They were in a hurry to get everyone out and everything was happening so fast; there wasn’t any time for--” She bit her lip, glancing aside at him. There was so much they couldn’t say, not if they didn’t want to give away the true nature of their relationship that night. “There wasn’t time for anything.”

Elena looked at Fitz. “And you chose to leave?”

His annoyance blossomed into full disdain. “I didn’t _want_ to,” he bit out, not caring how he sounded on the tape. “They _made_ me get on the bus. It was like she said--it happened too fast.”

Elena nodded thoughtfully, tapping the end of her pen against her lips, and shifted in her seat. “What was it like, being separated like that?”

Fitz was not eager to think of that at all--the worst pain and heartache he’d ever known in his life, the numb haze he’d been in the entire ride to Missouri, thinking that he would never see Jemma again. He was just as uneager to explain that feeling to someone else, especially someone he barely knew. But he took a deep breath; if he didn’t say it now, someone else would surely ask him later, and maybe it would be better to just rip the Band-Aid off, as it were.

But when he glanced back at Jemma, he was dismayed to see that she was looking down at her lap, her bottom lip wobbling and her eyes filled with tears. It was like someone had thrown a block of wet concrete into his stomach. Pulling his hand from hers, he pressed it to her back and leaned in close, not caring that Elena was watching.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, reaching up with his free hand to touch her cheek. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, if it’s too much.”

Jemma inhaled and tilted her head up, blinking back her tears without replying. Just as Fitz was about to angrily call off the interview, she shook her head, swallowing thickly again. “No, no, it’s fine...I’m fine,” she said wetly. “I want to talk.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, still concerned.

“Yes.” Jemma took a deep breath and took his hand again, pulling it back into her lap. Then she lifted her chin. “It was awful,” she said, her voice still wavering, but stronger than it had been a moment ago. “I cried for hours. I couldn’t stop. My parents...they didn’t know what to do. It--it felt like my heart had been ripped out.”

Sadness swelled within Fitz’s chest as he watched her speak. Despite their many conversations over the past couple of months, Jemma hadn’t spoken much about those few days they’d spent apart. Hearing that her grief had been just as acute and shattering as his had been--of course it had--pained his heart. All he wanted to do was wrap her up in his arms and soothe her tears away. There would be time for that later.

Realizing that Jemma had stopped talking and Elena was looking to him for his answer, he blinked and sat up a little straighter. “Um, there’s not much to say,” he mumbled, not wanting to go into too much detail. But Jemma had been brave, so maybe he could be as well. “I--I don’t think I spoke at all on the ride here. I couldn’t. Not that my mum didn’t try to make me.” He huffed a sour laugh. “All I could think about was, um, how pointless everything was without her.”

“And that’s why you decided to leave,” Elena said. It sounded more like a statement of fact rather than a question.

Fitz nodded, rubbing a finger against the bridge of his nose. “I had to go back.”

From there, Elena moved on to more specific questions about his journey from the Ark back to Virginia, from the various methods of transportation he’d used to the people he’d met along the way. She was particularly keen on the details of his desperate search for Jemma once he’d reached Richmond--perhaps Jemma had been right when she’d said that it made for a good story. Listening to himself recount it, he had to admit that it _did_ sound far-fetched, like something out of an action movie; not something that had happened to him in his own, very real, life.

However, when they reached the part of the story where her parents came back into play, Jemma clammed up again, and this time she couldn’t get past it. The memories were still too painful and fresh for her, and she didn’t want to go through it again. So Fitz calmed her down, with quiet words and soft, gentle touches, and only just barely managed to be polite to Elena when he told her to skip the question and move on.

By the time they reached questions regarding how they were settling into life at the Ark and their plans for their future, Jemma had relaxed her death grip on his hand, her eyes far less red-rimmed. Those questions felt easier to answer, almost banal, because it was all about the routine and schedules that had been set out for them. They hadn’t done much planning for the future, because it was still so very uncertain. Without a home to return to, they were technically refugees at the Ark. They both wanted to attend college once they finished high school there, but with MIT having always been the dream for Fitz--and Boston now washed off the map--he had to make a choice amongst the schools that were left on the West Coast. Jemma had always seen herself attending either MIT or Harvard, so she was in a similar situation. But they were very adamant that wherever the future took them, they would be together.

Jemma was even smiling a little once Elena wrapped up with the last question she had on her notepad, and Fitz was feeling a bit kinder towards her than he had earlier. She really was one of the better journalists he’d spoken with; her calm manner and warm smiles made her easy to talk to (or as easy as it was for him to talk to anyone), and he could tell she actually did care about the struggles they’d gone through. But when she put away her notepad and recorder and picked up her camera, he felt his mood deflate slightly.

“Ugh,” he grumbled. “Do we have to do this?”

Jemma smiled as she stood and reached out to grab his hands and tug gently, urging him to his feet. “Just a few,” she said lightly, almost all traces of her earlier upset gone. “Come on. The less you slouch and complain, the faster it’ll go.”

“Alright, fine,” he said, rolling his eyes, and let Jemma pull him up. Once standing, he blew out a breath and straightened his shirt, smoothing a hand down his tie. “Um--uh--what do you want us to do?”

Elena, who had been watching their exchange with a smile on her face, nodded towards the very front of the classroom. “I think we can get a few standard portraits done first,” she said, checking the settings on her camera.

Fitz followed Jemma over to where Elena had indicated they should go, then raised his eyebrows at her in question. “Okay, so, what…” He lifted his arm slightly, and Jemma stepped into him, letting his arm fall across her shoulders as she tucked herself into his side. “Is this what we’re doing?” he asked hesitantly.

“That will do to start,” Elena said, and lifted her camera.

He tried to paste his best approximation of a content smile on his face, but it felt very forced. Elena snapped a few photos, then leaned back to scroll through them on her camera’s preview screen. She frowned. “Fitz, could you try relaxing a little? You look very...stiff. Like you don’t want to be here.”

“That’s because I _don’t_ ,” he mumbled. Jemma elbowed him gently as Elena laughed.

“Pretend like this is the formal wedding photo session we never got,” Jemma said, looking up at him with a smile. “It’s an opportunity for us.”

“That’s not really helping,” Fitz muttered, but he couldn’t resist smiling at her in return.

The shutter of Elena’s camera clicked a few times, and they looked back over to her. She was checking her camera screen again. “That was perfect,” she said, grinning. “More candid, but very nice. Keep him smiling, Jemma.”

They went through a few more poses that way, before Elena separated them to take some solo portraits. Then she was packing up her things, shaking their hands and thanking them for the interview. She promised to see them later the next day, when she would shadow Fitz for a couple of hours at school and the tech lab, getting candid photos of his daily life.

Once they were out in the hall on the way back to their bunk, Jemma took his hand and smiled up at him again. “See?” she said. “We made it. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Maybe not so bad for me,” he replied, casting her a worried look. “What about _you_? She...you got upset.”

Jemma sighed and looked down, pursing her lips. “I just...I can’t talk about it yet. About them. I’m not ready.” She shook her head. “Maybe one day...but not today.”

“Hey.” Fitz swung their hands a little. “I thought you were really brave, you know, saying what you could.”

This time, Jemma’s smile was more timid and unsure. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” He properly grinned at her, one of his rare bright and true smiles, and was gratified to see her eyes light up in response. “Also, did I mention--you look really nice today. Your dress, your hair, all that stuff.”

Jemma blushed and looked down, running her free hand over the loose skirt of her floral-print dress as they walked. “It’s just a shame I have to return it. It was very kind of Daisy to let me borrow it, though.”

Fitz hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe we can get you one soon. I heard one of the techs in the lab saying they’re working on getting an external mail delivery system up and running here. And, you know, Mum’s still got some money left. I’m sure she’d be happy to get you some new clothes.”

“Oh, Fitz, I don’t know.” She frowned. “She’s already done so much for me, collecting the clothes and things I do have, and everything...I couldn’t ask her to do that.”

He laughed quietly. “She’ll probably do it anyway, even if you don’t ask. You know she will.” When she gave him a dubious look, he said, “Jemma, she’s already knitting you a hat and mittens for the winter and we _live_ _underground_.”

That finally made Jemma laugh, and she leaned into his shoulder as they turned a corner, clasping his hand between both of hers. “You have a point.”

“I know I do,” he said, “and it’s a good thing, too.” He clenched his fingers around hers. “ Your hands are always bloody _freezing_.”

Jemma’s jaw dropped, and she let out a squawk of protest. “They are not!”

Fitz couldn’t help but laugh at her outrage. “They are, they really are! Nothing as rude as being all warm in my bed and then you come in with those ice buckets you call hands and put them all over me, and your feet are just as bad--”

He cut himself off as he realized how his words might sound-- _your hands all over me_ \--and was prepared to backpedal into safer territory, but Jemma beat him to it. Dropping his hand, she bounced around in front of him, and before he could react, had reached up to splay both hands over his cheeks. “You mean, like this?” she asked, grinning widely.

Fitz let out what could only be described as an undignified shriek, stopping in his tracks and jerking away from her grasp. “Oi!” he cried. “ _Yes_ , that’s what I mean, Christ! Are you sure you’re even warm-blooded, not a reptile or something?!”

Jemma’s face was radiant as she smiled, tugging on his hand to pull him after her as they continued towards their bunk, and the sound of her laughter echoing off the walls was enough to warm even his chilliest moods.


	3. Chapter 3

A few days later, Fitz would have given anything to hear Jemma laugh.

She was having one of her ‘off’ days--a time where her grief and trauma overwhelmed her, where she was quiet and remote and didn’t speak much. Nothing he tried could make her give him more than a brief, dim smile. She’d had them more often than she didn’t at first, and while they were becoming more infrequent as she healed and recovered, sometimes he just couldn’t get through to her. He didn’t resent it--he just hated being impotent, feeling like he couldn’t help or set things right, that he couldn’t take her pain away. His mother had promised him that simply being there for Jemma was a reassurance, but he couldn’t help but feel like he should be doing more.

That helplessness, combined with the frustration of hitting a brick wall on one of his projects in the tech lab, had Fitz feeling particularly grouchy as he entered the canteen for lunch. Jemma had texted to let him know that she was running behind and would be a little late meeting up with him; he was hoping to use the time alone to shake off his bad mood before she arrived, so he could be of better support to her.

All hope of that disappeared, however, when someone dropped a food tray down onto the table across from where he sat.

“Hey, Fitz,” she said, shooting him a quick smile. Daisy Johnson was a fellow resident in their section, the same age as he and Jemma; they’d met through school. Jemma had taken to her immediately. She was a bit of an anomaly--being from Los Angeles, she’d had the opportunity to go back home after Impact Day, since the West Coast had escaped unscathed, but she’d chosen not to. She’d explained to them that, being an orphan who bounced from foster family to foster family, she really had nothing that she _wanted_ to return to. So she was staying at the Ark to finish out high school, and would decide where to go from there.

Fitz gave her a half-hearted smile in response, and it didn’t escape her notice. “Whoa, you look pissed,” she said, frowning. “Bad day?”

He winced and shrugged noncommittally, trying to school his expression into something that was at least a little less perturbed. He didn’t want Jemma to see him like that and worry. “Eh,” he muttered. “A bit.”

“Well, I know it’s not school, because you kick ass at everything there,” Daisy said, smiling widely in a clear effort to get him to perk up. “Is it a work thing? Come on, you can tell me.”

He sighed, pushing his food around his plate with his fork. Like Mack, Fitz had no real problem with Daisy; it was just that he didn’t know her very well yet, and was hesitant to open up. “No, it’s not work,” he said at length.

“Oh.” She leaned forward over the table, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Relationship problems, then?”

Fitz felt his heart stutter to a stop. “What?” he asked as he made a face, his stomach churning. “No, no, we’re fine, everything’s--”

“Because I’ve seen that kind of face before,” Daisy cut in. “If it’s not school or work, then it’s because you’re not getting any.”

“Any what?” he replied, opting to play dumb and hoping against hope that she didn’t mean what he thought she meant.

She gave him an exasperated look. “ _Sex,_  dummy.”

Fitz froze, his fears confirmed, feeling his entire face flush tomato red. “What?” he stammered again. “ _No._ ” He could feel a vague sense of panic crawling up his throat. Was he that obvious? He thought he’d kept his occasional feelings of frustration under control, but were they really that evident? “No, it’s--it’s not like that--”

Daisy leaned back and laughed lightly. “You should see your face, Fitz. Dead giveaway. What, have you guys just been busy? Got a lot of tension built up?”

If it were possible, Fitz felt his face turn even more scarlet. “No, I mean--it’s--it’s not--we haven’t--”

“ _Oh._ ” Her eyes went round with sudden understanding. Then she leaned forward again. “You mean you guys haven’t done it at _all_ yet?” When Fitz said nothing, just glared down at his lunch, she added, “Why not? You’ve been married for a few months and you’re very obviously nuts about each other. I don’t get it.”

“It’s none of your business,” he grumbled, clenching his fist around his fork.

But Daisy was undeterred. “Do you just not know what to do? Do you need tips?” She grinned again. “Because I have been there and done that. Trust me, I know all about--”

“Daisy, please don’t.”

“Seriously! I can help--”

“No!” Fitz shouted, his irritation spilling over as he slammed his hand down on the table and leapt to his feet. “Will you just leave it alone already?” Daisy gaped up at him with wide eyes, her face stricken, and he was aware that everyone in the canteen had stopped what they were doing at his outburst to stare at him. Swallowing past his upset, he said, “I’m not someone you can--can just tease and have a laugh at because I’m not--she doesn’t--”  

Movement off to the side caught his eye, and he looked over to see Jemma standing a few steps away, clutching her food tray tightly and staring at them with similarly wide eyes. Horror struck him square in the chest. How much had she heard? Suddenly, it was hard for him to breathe. He had to get away, and fast.

“Just--leave it,” he muttered, and turned to exit as quickly as he could. He brushed past Jemma and her concerned, confused look without a glance back, leaving his food half-eaten, desperate to get out from underneath the stares of everyone who had just witnessed a very public, very embarrassing outburst.

-:-

Fitz avoided his bunk and any of his section’s common areas for the rest of the day, even eschewing his assigned work in the tech lab to hide in one of the generator rooms he had access to through his internship. He was overreacting and he knew it, but his gut instinct when humiliated had always been to run to ground. Besides, the loud humming of the machinery was almost enough to drown out the anxious spiral of thoughts in his head.

He shouldn’t have let Daisy’s needling--which he knew logically had been entirely in good humor--get to him. But she had unknowingly tapped into a well of insecurity and unsurety within him, and he hadn’t known how to respond. He’d gotten defensive. He’d lashed out, like he was prone to do when hurt or embarrassed. He could still see her face, taken aback and apologetic, and he felt a little ashamed for yelling at her, but why couldn’t she have left well enough alone?

The truth was, he couldn’t answer the question of why he and Jemma hadn’t slept together any more than Daisy. They’d never discussed it, and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to talk about it--just the idea of being frank about something as intimate and personal as sex made his skin crawl, even if it was something he actively wished to experience with her. They could talk about anything and everything, but sex felt like a step too far. It was scary. As such, he didn’t know where Jemma’s boundaries were, and he was too afraid to push.

Maybe, he thought, he’d brought this all on himself. Maybe if they just talked about it, they could reach an understanding and he wouldn’t feel so bad over hoping that perhaps _this_ time was the right time. But again, the thought of laying his desires bare made him shudder and cringe. Surely she’d think he was a stereotypical teenage male, concerned with one thing and one thing only, when it was much more complicated to him than that.  

Hours passed with him alternating sitting against the wall with his knees drawn up, or lying flat on his back on the concrete floor, staring up at the ceiling and ignoring how uncomfortable it was, his thoughts a tangled mess. Thankfully, no one from Maintenance stopped by, so he remained undiscovered. It was only when he could no longer ignore the hungry rumbling of his stomach that he finally decided he needed to come out of hiding.

Checking the time on his phone, he sighed dejectedly when he realized it was well past dinnertime, and that the canteen was closed for the night. He’d have to wait until morning to get something to eat. There was a multitude of missed messages and calls, too--mostly from Jemma, a few from his mother, even some from Callie. He’d set his phone on silent while in the generator room, not wanting to deal with anyone, and didn’t bother to reply to any of the messages right away, despite feeling a little guilty. He was heading back to his bunk, anyway.

As he expected (and somewhat dreaded), Jemma was already there waiting on him.

“Fitz!” she cried, shooting up from where she’d been sitting on the bed. “Where have you _been_?”

He’d worried her. Of course he had. The light guilt he’d been feeling rose thick in his gut, and he looked down, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “I was, um...out,” he mumbled. “Clearing my head.”

“ _Fitz!"_  she said again, this time her voice laced with reproach. “You could have--I couldn’t find you; I looked _everywhere_ for you, but you--you weren’t in the lab, or at school, or with your mother--”

The fear in her voice made him look up, and the guilt roiling in his stomach bloomed into horrible, consuming shame. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and watery, and she was anxiously twisting her hands together at her waist. She looked wretched. “I texted you!” she continued. “But you never answered and--and no one knew where you were--and--and I--I--I was worried--”

Fitz pressed his face into his hands. “Christ, I’m such an arse,” he groaned with remorse, then came forward into the room, holding his arms out to her. But Jemma crossed her arms and glared at him.

“You can’t just disappear like that!” she cried, her jaw set even as her lower lip trembled. “It’s--it’s irresponsible, and dangerous, and--they would have had everyone out looking for you if your mum hadn’t stopped them--”

If it were possible to feel about an inch tall, Fitz was managing it. He and Jemma had never really had a row before, and this was shaping up to be their first one; he felt absolutely rotten, especially since he knew that it was all completely his fault and that he deserved every bit of the anger she was directing at him.

“Jemma,” he tried, taking another step toward her. “I’m sorry--”

“You’re sorry?” She breathed out a sour laugh, hunching in on herself. “I sat here for hours, going spare with worry, unable to reach you, not knowing where you were, and you’re _sorry._ ” She swiped her hand angrily across her eyes and sniffed, looking away from him. “All I could think about was, what if I’d lost you? The way I lost-- _them-_ -”

Fitz’s face crumpled as the full enormity of just how badly he’d messed up hit him. He’d been so selfish. All he’d wanted was to get away to clear his mind and lick his wounds in peace, but he’d forgotten that he had Jemma to take into account now, that his actions didn’t affect just him--they affected her, too. He’d been so caught up in his own problems that he’d been completely insensitive to how she would handle him disappearing on her. How could he have been so thoughtless?

Swallowing past the lump that had formed in his throat, he reached out to her again and said, “Jemma--please--”

She let him gather her into his arms with only minimal resistance, gradually relaxing against him before finally slipping her arms around his waist and pressing against him as close as she could, burying her face in his chest with a shuddering sigh. Fitz wrapped his arms securely around her, closing his eyes and thoroughly hating himself. She was _shaking_ , she was so upset.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, dropping a light kiss to the crown of her head. “You know how I can get when I’m...upset.” It was a weak excuse, but it was all he had. “I really am an arse.”

Jemma wound her arms even tighter around him. “Yes, you are,” she replied, her voice muffled against his shirt. She sounded a little less tense, but it really didn’t make him feel any better at all, and it likely wasn’t supposed to. Again, he figured he deserved it. After a moment, she added, “Please don’t do it again.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Fitz rubbed one of his hands up and down her back in a slow pattern, trying to soothe her, trying to make amends. He hated feeling like they were at odds. They stayed that way in silence for a few long minutes, until Jemma fully relaxed, and no longer felt like she was holding herself apart from him. She shifted slightly in his arms.

“Do you want to talk about what happened today?” she murmured. “Daisy feels awful; she said she never meant to make you angry.”

Fitz let go of her and took a few steps back, looking away. “Don’t really want to talk about it,” he muttered, feeling dread creep back into his stomach. He wondered what exactly Daisy had told Jemma about why he’d gotten upset.

“If it was bad enough to make you run away for hours, we might _need_ to talk,” Jemma said carefully, taking a step toward him.

He shook his head, turning to face the desk, away from her. “No. I can’t.”

“Fitz.” Jemma’s tone held a plea. “What happened to being honest? We’re--we’re supposed to talk to each other, be open.” _So we don’t mess things up again._

“I _can’t,_ ” he repeated, raking his hands through his hair and feeling panic wrap around him. He felt trapped; his fear over the subject was giving him the urge to run away again. “Not about this.”

“Why not?” Instead of an exasperated huff like it might have once been, Jemma’s words were small and confused. “Is it...does it have to do with what Daisy was teasing you about? Sex?”

Fitz groaned, covering his face with his hands again.

“I know that’s not something we’ve--we’ve ever discussed,” Jemma said, her earlier anxiety clear once again in her voice. “But maybe we should. If it’s something that makes you that uncomfortable, if you don’t want it--”

“But I do,” Fitz blurted, turning back to face her. “That’s just it, I _do_. Want it...you.”

Jemma simply stared him in surprise.

He blew out a breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “You’re my wife, and I love you,” he said miserably. “And I--I want to--to love you the way a husband would.” Terrified of her response, he rushed on, desperate to reassure her, to make himself look less pathetic. “But you don’t! At least, I think you don’t. And that’s fine, I promise, it’s fine. I meant what I said, our first night here, remember? That I’d never make you do anything you didn’t want to do just because we’re married--”

“Fitz,” Jemma said again. It was quiet, but it was enough to stop him in his tracks, staring back at her while his cheeks burned in mortification. She frowned up at him. “Why haven’t you ever said anything?”

He laughed darkly. “Really? How am I supposed to bring that up in conversation? Over dinner or homework or something, ‘hey Jemma, I’m madly in love with you and think you’re gorgeous and I’m desperate for a shag, are you up for a go’? I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

Now Jemma’s cheeks were pink too, and she bit her lip as she watched him. “I would have listened,” she said softly.

Fitz shrugged expressively, trying to hide his embarrassment behind nonchalance. It didn’t work. “You just...whenever we, you know, kiss, you...you never really seem like you want _more._  And I don’t want to push.” Realizing he might sound like a petulant child not getting what he wanted, he added, “But it’s fine! I swear. It’s just--I--” He deflated then, not knowing how to explain himself without sounding like an utter prick. “God, I can’t believe we’re talking about this. Nevermind.”

He made to move past Jemma and the bed toward their dresser, intent on getting his pajamas and escaping to the bathroom to suffer his humiliation alone, but she reached out to grab his hand, stopping him. “Fitz,” she said quietly, uncertainly, “you’re right. I’m...I’m not ready. For that.”

Despite insisting that he understood, and that he was okay with it, hearing Jemma say the words out loud still made something in Fitz’s heart crumble out of hurt and disappointment. He knew it was illogical, to feel like her hesitation was a judgment of him personally--that he wasn’t good enough somehow, that he was lacking or had done something wrong--but he couldn’t stop himself from feeling that brief, traitorous sense of sorrow.

Still, he opened his mouth to say that he understood anyway, that it was okay, but Jemma was quicker. She held up her free hand to stop him. “It’s...everything is still so new between us,” she said. “I don’t want to rush it.”

“No, yeah, of course not,” Fitz replied quickly.

Jemma gave him a slight smile. Then she looked down and her expression turned more solemn. “And...I’m...” She shook her head. “I’m not ready.”

Fitz swallowed. “Hey, it’s fine,” he whispered, reaching out so that both of their hands were linked, his fingers threaded through hers. He felt like even more of a cad now, for feeling so out of sorts over their physical relationship while she was so obviously hesitant. He sighed. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” he mumbled. “Because--I know you still have so much on your shoulders, and--you don’t...” He made a face. “Now you’re going to think that every time I so much as look at you, I’ll be--consumed by lust, or something.”

Jemma laughed at that, surprising them both. “No, I won’t,” she said, and this time, her smile was genuine. Then it turned a bit mischievous. “Well...sometimes, when I wake up in the morning, and we’re...you know, lying a bit close…”

Fitz felt the blood drain from his face, and he dropped her hands like they’d burned him as he turned away from her again, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. “Oh, _fucking_ hell, Jemma--”

“I--I can feel--”

“ _Please_ don’t finish that sentence--”

“It’s just biology!” Jemma cried. “It’s not your fault; you can’t help it!”

“It’s bloody embarrassing!” Fitz shot back. “I--I’ve tried to, to keep you from noticing, because it’s awkward as arse and I know you don’t want it--”

“I do!” At Fitz’s disbelieving stare, Jemma took a deep breath, her hands hovering like she was unsure if she wanted to reach for him. “I _do_ want it...I _want_ you to be attracted to me, but...I…I...” Her breath hitched. “I’m...I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

Feeling confused but still wanting to reassure her despite his own discomfort, Fitz took a step forward. “Hey...it’s--”

She sighed, almost sadly. “I’ve been an awful tease, haven’t I?”

He balked. “No. No, I didn’t say that--”

“It’s so easy to get caught up in the moment and get carried away, when it’s just us,” Jemma said, as if he hadn’t spoken. “And you really are quite a good kisser.” He felt his face heat up again, reflected in the pink blooming across her cheeks and the shy smile she gave him. “Sometimes I really want to let go, to--give in, go all the way, especially when you’re so....” She trailed off, and Fitz noticed that her breathing had gone shallow, her eyes dark.

His own breath stalled in his throat as his heart sped up. Had the air between them grown thicker, or was it just him? “Especially when I’m…?”

She looked up at him and nodded, licking her lips. “When you’re...bold. Like you were on my birthday.”

Fitz thought back to the night in question. He remembered how she’d felt beneath his hands, how perfectly she’d fit into his palms, how he’d desperately wanted to run them up beneath her shirt to feel her bare skin, how his blood had run hot when she’d whimpered against his mouth as he’d carefully kneaded her breasts above her clothes. It had arguably been one of the best nights of his entire pathetic life--even after she’d cooled things down, leaving him in an acute state of frustration. He didn’t regret it, _couldn’t_ regret it. Not when it meant experiencing that kind of intimacy with her.

“Oh,” he said, voice hoarse, feeling a familiar tightening in his jeans. Grimacing, he squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to back down. Knowing now that Jemma wanted him too was having an effect on him, but this was _not_ the time for it--especially since they were discussing the fact that she wasn’t ready to go all the way.

To highlight that, Jemma was blinking and shaking her head slightly, as if to bring herself out of remembering, too. “But--I’m--I--I _can’t,_  not yet,” she said, looking far more apologetic than he felt she needed to be. “I’m so sorry. My birthday--that was terrible of me. To do that to you.”

Fitz frowned. Something about Jemma’s manner made him think that maybe something else was going on, something that ran far deeper than him or general reluctance, but he didn’t know how to ask without upsetting her again. Instead, he tried to school his frown into a smile.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said quietly, reaching out to take her hand. When she looked up at him, once again smiling uncertainly, he took her other hand and squeezed them gently. “And--I thought your birthday was pretty brilliant, actually.”

“Yeah,” she replied quietly. “It was.”

They stood together for a moment in a silence that wasn’t completely uncomfortable, ducking their heads and shooting each other shy smiles, until Jemma cleared her throat.

“I can try to be a little more considerate, when we…” Yet another blush spread across her cheeks. “When we kiss.” Fitz nodded, unsure of how he could respond. Then she let go of his hands to step in closer, reaching up to rest her own palms against his chest. “I’m not punishing you for anything,” she said, her face earnest. “You know that, right?”

Fitz nodded again. “No, I know,” he replied. “I didn’t think you were.”

“Good. I love you,” she said, a hint of vulnerability showing in her eyes. “More than anything. And I want to _give_ you everything. But I’m just not ready.” She took a deep breath. “Can you be patient with me?”

“Of course,” he said immediately, daring to splay his hands lightly over her waist. “But, um--can I--am I still allowed to kiss you?”

Jemma laughed again, her eyes lighting up. “Of course you can, silly. You don’t even have to ask.” To demonstrate, she stretched up to fit her mouth against his, and even though the kiss was chaste, it was still warm and meaningful. Fitz felt some of the tension leech out of his shoulders as he kissed her back. He was still embarrassed as hell, and Jemma probably was, too, but he knew then that they would be okay.

When she broke the kiss, Jemma reached up to briefly frame his face with her hands, bumping her nose against his, then stepped away to turn toward the desk. She picked up a plain white cardboard box he hadn’t noticed there before. “Um...when I realized you weren’t coming to dinner,” she said, “I decided to save you some.” She held out the box to him. “It’s just a sandwich, but it should help tide you over until breakfast.”

Fitz felt a heavy rush of affection for her as he took the box and opened it up to look inside. Turkey and swiss with brown mustard, one of his favorites. He looked back up at her to say thank you, and found her holding out a bottle. “I got you some lemonade, too, instead of water, as a treat,” she said. “I thought maybe it might cheer you up.”

 _This_ was why he loved Jemma. Her thoughtfulness, especially in the face of his own recent carelessness, humbled him and made him want to do better, for her. She hadn’t been having a good day at all, and had been furious with him but, in true Jemma fashion, she was still more concerned with him and his well-being rather than her own. He wanted to make sure she was taken care of, too. That had been part of his promise when he married her, after all.

“Thank you,” he murmured gratefully, leaning down to give her another quick kiss. “You’re the best. I’m sorry I was such an arse today.”

“I forgive you,” she said simply, pressing a hand to his shoulder. “Would you like to hear about what I did in the animal pens today? I had the opportunity to work with some capuchins. You would have been _so_ jealous.”

“I already am,” Fitz replied, smiling, and took a seat at the desk so he could eat his sandwich. Jemma went on to regale him with her tales of caring for the monkeys, and Fitz revelled in the fact that confessing his desires hadn’t been nearly as disastrous as he’d feared it would be (and that Jemma wasn’t as angry with him anymore). And, later, when they went to bed for the night and she snuggled up to him the way she always did, pressing kisses against his neck, he knew for certain that everything would eventually be perfectly fine.

-:-

The next evening after dinner, Jemma stayed close to their bunk door after she shut it behind them. “We need to talk,” she announced.

Fitz looked back at her with wide, wary eyes, immediately on guard. “We do?” he asked. He thought they’d done a lot of talking the night before, and she didn’t _look_ angry; so what had he done now that warranted another serious conversation?

Jemma nodded, pursing her lips. “Yes.” She went past him to sit on the edge of the bed, then patted the empty space next to her in invitation. She looked pensive, her gaze on her hands in her lap as he sat down, but she still scooted over so their thighs were pressed together. “I owe you an explanation,” she said. “I know I told you last night that I wasn’t ready to have sex, but I didn’t tell you _why_.”

A faint note of terror ran through him. He’d gotten the feeling that something else had been bothering her, but he hadn’t wanted to pressure her to tell him. As it was, now he was worried that something was legitimately wrong, and that was butting up against his aversion to talking about sex in the first place.

“Oh--um,” Fitz fumbled, “you, uh--you don’t have to explain if you don’t want to; I mean, I understand. It’s fine. I can wait--”

“But this is important!” Jemma cut in, her hands coming up to curl into anxious fists beneath her chin. “Honesty, remember? We’re supposed to be honest. And I want you to know. I...I don’t want you to go on thinking that I--don’t want you.”

“Right,” Fitz said slowly, somehow managing to feel both apprehensive and hopeful all at once. Remembering how she had described him on her birthday, thinking she didn’t want him was no longer something he worried about. He _did_ worry about the sorrow that enveloped her from time to time.

Her hands dropped back to her lap, and Jemma took a deep breath before letting it slowly out, seeming to marshal her thoughts. “As you know, I--I’ve had a hard time dealing with my parents’ death,” she said at length, her voice quiet.

Fitz nodded, and placed his hand on her knee, rubbing his thumb in what he hoped was a soothing pattern, encouraging her to go on.

“Any sort of happiness I’ve felt since then has felt...wrong, in a way,” Jemma continued. “Like I’m betraying them.” At Fitz’s dismayed look, she rushed to add, “I know, I know; it’s silly. It’s ridiculous. Of course I’m not betraying them; they’d want me to be happy. I know that. But it feels so _wrong_ to be happy when they’re gone.”

Fitz bit his lip, searching his mind for answers and coming up empty-handed. He couldn’t fully understand what Jemma was going through, because he hadn’t lost everything the way she had; the best he could do was continue to be there for her, to be a source of support and compassion. “I know we’ve talked about that, a little bit,” he said. “I wish I knew what to say that would make it all better for you. I just--I know that--I really do believe that they would want you to be happy.”

Jemma sighed. “I know. I’m...I’m working on it. I’m telling myself that it’s okay to be happy, that I’m _allowed_ to be happy, here with you. And I am.” She took one of his hands in hers, threading their fingers together and squeezing tightly, before giving him a smile that was tinged bittersweet. “Happy, with you.”

“I’m happy with you, too,” he whispered.

Her smile widened briefly before she sobered again, taking another deep breath. “There’s a part of me that’s worried that if...that if I let myself go and allow myself to experience that kind of happiness with you, that joy, that...sex with you will bring, that I...that I would be letting _them_ go. Leaving them behind. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

Fitz blinked, at a loss for words, trying to absorb her confession.

Jemma breathed out a shaky laugh. “It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, doesn’t it?”

His jaw dropped. “No, not at all--”

“That I don’t want to sleep with my husband because I’m preoccupied with my dead parents--”

“No no no--” Fitz shifted on the bed to face her, grabbing her by the shoulders, his face earnest. “You don’t sound ridiculous. You’ve been through a lot; you’re just processing it the best you can. This would be hard for anyone. I’m not holding it against you, I swear.”

Jemma’s face as she looked at him was achingly vulnerable. “I just...I need time. I know that sounds horridly cliche, but it’s true, I promise.”

Fitz smiled. “Take all the time you need.” He reached up to cup her cheek in his hand. “Is there anything I can do? You know...to make things easier on you, or--or ease your mind, or just help in general?”

Jemma leaned her face into his touch. “Honestly, I think it helps that you aren’t angry with me, or think I’m being irrational.”

He huffed. “Angry? Jemma, I’m--Christ.” He pulled his hands away and rubbed at his eyes, chuckling to himself. “ _You_ should probably be angry with _me._  Here I am, worried about getting a--a leg over, and you’ve got much more serious things going on. It’s a wonder you didn’t make me sleep on the floor last night.”

She laughed lightly, surprising him, and he looked up to see her smiling. “Fitz, even if I was furious at you--and I was, but not for that--I wouldn’t make you sleep on the floor.”

“Right, right,” Fitz said, nodding. “Good to know. For future reference.” He ducked when she made a half-hearted attempted to swat at him, pleased to see that his attempt at levity had worked.

“Can you be patient with me?” Jemma asked, just like she had the night before. “I think I’m almost there sometimes, but then…the guilt just _hits_ me.”

He frowned. “Have you thought about seeing a counselor, maybe? They have some here.”

Jemma shook her head, looking ashamed. “I have thought about it, but...no. I’m not sure I could do it. I know it would be the logical, beneficial thing to do, but...it’s such an intensely personal thing.” She gave him a bracing smile. “It was hard enough as it is to even admit it to _you_.”

Fitz nodded, then reached out to gather her into his arms. She came readily, curling in against his chest and settling her legs over his lap. Once she was comfortable, he rested his cheek on her hair and sighed. “I understand,” he murmured, then kissed her forehead. “This stuff, it’s--it’s not easy, is it?”

“No,” Jemma said quietly. “But--honesty.” She tapped his chest, over his heart, and he could feel her smile. “It’s important.”

“Yeah,” he said, knowing she was right, even if it was awkward and difficult. “It is.”

-:-

The following night, Fitz went to visit his mother without Jemma for a little while. He tried to carve out time for her at least a few times a week; she was still the most important person in his life besides Jemma, and the near end of the world had only put that into sharp relief. Besides, despite being married and a legal adult, he didn’t really _feel_ like one--an adult, that is--and still looked up to his mother for worldly advice on almost everything.

Advice was what he was rather hesitantly in search of that evening. His mother could tell, as soon as he walked in the door--something about his posture or his general attitude must have given it away.

She put away her knitting (what looked to be the beginnings of a cranberry-colored mitten) and looked up at him as she turned down the volume on her television. “Leo! Are you alright? Something on your mind?”

“A bit,” Fitz said uneasily, taking a seat in the empty armchair. “Ah--can I ask a question?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Fitz replied.

He took a moment to consider his words, choosing them carefully so as not to alarm her. “Right. Um. Back when you and Dad were together, how did you...uh, how did you get through rough spots?”

Mrs. Fitz frowned deeply at him. “Is something wrong between you and Jemma? Are you having a fight? You looked fine at dinner.”   

Fitz held up his hands to ward off her concerns. “No, we’re fine, we’re--we talked it through. Nothing major.” _Yes it was_. “I just...wanted to know, for future reference.”

His mother folded her hands in her lap, looking thoughtful. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask for relationship advice, considering how our marriage ended,” she said, rather frankly. “But I can tell you what I’ve learned. What were you having trouble with?”

He slunk down in his chair a bit. “I’m being vague on purpose, Mum,” he mumbled. “Please don’t ask me to be specific.” If talking about sex with Jemma had been awful and awkward, the idea of discussing it with his mother was even more horrendous.

Mrs. Fitz gave him a long, searching stare before sitting back in her seat and sighing. “Well, communication is very important,” she said. “You have to be honest with each other, even if you think it will hurt. I’m not saying you should deliberately do or say anything to hurt Jemma, but being open and not bottling things up can save you a lot of trouble down the line. Keeping things inside can lead to resentment. Trust me; I learned that the hard way.”

Fitz nodded slowly. “Yeah, right. Got it. We’re...working on that.”

The memory of Jemma’s voice when she’d asked what had happened to being honest floated through his mind. She’d sounded hurt, almost betrayed. Mentally chastising himself for something for which he’d already been forgiven wouldn’t help, but he’d promised he’d do better by her.

“That’s a good start, then,” his mother said, smiling. “Keep doing that. Another good thing to remember is that you and Jemma may not always see eye to eye, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. You’ll have disagreements. But it’s how you react that determines what kind of person you are, what kind of relationship you have.” Her smile turned wry. “Your father would have done well to learn that lesson.”

Fitz didn’t particularly want to think about his absent father, so he waved that comment away in his mind and focused on the other things his mother had said. “I think we’ve got a pretty good start on having polite disagreements,” he said, smiling a little, “because of all the arguing we’ve done over school.”

Mrs. Fitz laughed. “I’m not sure I would call some of your arguments _polite._  You two can get really loud sometimes. But I, know what you mean.” Her gaze turned soft. “I know you two have only been together the way you are now for a few months, but I think you have a solid foundation built for a good, lasting relationship. The fact that you were firm friends first has helped a lot.”

“You think so?” Fitz asked hopefully.

“I know so.” She winked at him, and he was reminded of the pep talk she’d given him before the wedding ceremony. Knowing his mother had faith in their relationship meant the world to him.

“I mean, I know most of this stuff already,” he said, feeling a little bashful, “but it’s nice to know you think so, too. I know she loves me, and--I know it’s gonna be us, always. I just...want to do right by her. I want her to be happy; I don’t want to muck things up. She’s been through so much.”

His mother’s smile was still gentle. “We’ve all been through a lot,” she said. “But your knowing that, wanting to take care of her, makes all the difference in the world. Whatever it is that’s been troubling you, you’ll get through it.”

Fitz nodded, ducking his head, and smiled, too. From there, their conversation moved on to other, safer topics: how school was going for him, his projects in the lab, how her own classes were going--she’d been invited to teach some college-level courses based off her job before the evacuation--and the circle of friends she’d made so far for herself. By the time he left to return to his own bunk for the evening, he was feeling much better about everything in general.

As he let himself inside, he saw that Jemma was tacking what looked to be newspaper clippings to the wall above their desk. “Hey, Jemma. What’s that?” he asked as he shut the door behind him.

She flashed him a quick grin before pinning the second clipping firmly in place. “Elena stopped by while you were out. She brought us some paper copies of your interview--it’s been published. It’s online, too, but she thought we might like some physical copies.”

Fitz tried to suppress a groan as he came over to join her. “It’s out already? Oh, Christ. I don’t know if I want to read it. You can tell me how terrible it is.”

Jemma gave him one of her looks, the one that told him she thought he was being difficult for no reason at all. “I thought it was quite well-written, actually,” she said, picking up an untouched copy of the Los Angeles Times to show him. “Thoughtful, considerate, and very flattering of you. And me, too, I suppose.”

She pointed at the article’s headline: _Leo Fitz: Life After the Impact, The Truth Behind the Rumors, and His New Wife (!)_.

He pursed his lips. “That last bit isn’t click-bait at _all._ ”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “It’s a good article, I promise.” She set the newspaper back down. “I thought we’d keep this one intact, but the other--I think the photos would look nice on our wall. Aren’t they lovely?”

She gestured at her handiwork, and Fitz leaned in for a better look. She’d cut out the photos Elena had taken from the second copy of the article, and had already hung a couple of them up. One of them was one of the portraits she’d taken of just him alone--and he’d done a stellar job at looking like the pensive teenager he could frequently be--but the other was a candid of him and Jemma together. His arm was tight around her shoulders but she was still leaning into him, beaming up at him with a light hand pressed to the center of his chest. In the photo, he looked down at her, and his expression was striking. From the curve of his small smile to the unmistakably warm glow of his eyes, his adoration was clearly written all over his face, and it was reflected back at him in the brightness of Jemma’s own eyes. They really did look like a couple very much in love.

“Yeah, that’s nice,” Fitz said, then cleared his throat when his voice came out a bit hoarse. “That’s a good one. I’m--glad we have it.”

“Me too.” She picked up another carefully cut-out photo, one in which she had actually gotten him to laugh, and Elena had caught the moment perfectly with her camera. She pinned it to the wall next to the other photos of them. “They really are like the wedding pictures we never got to have.”

The love he felt for her swelled in his chest, and he turned to brush a kiss against her forehead. Their lives might never be ordinary ever again, what with his fame and the circumstances in which they were living, but Fitz was glad that Jemma had found something that brought her some happiness--even if it was just something as simple as photographs.

-:-

Over the next couple of weeks, Fitz noticed a certain sort of comfortable peace permeate his relationship with Jemma. Things were slightly awkward at first following their conversations regarding sex; he was a little hesitant to initiate anything physical with her, wanting her to have complete control and agency, and she was wary of pushing him too far. But in the end, having those talks and being honest and each knowing where the other stood actually made things easier. Fitz eventually felt free to shower Jemma with affection without subconsciously wondering if _this_ would be the time they finally went further. He trusted her to tell him when she was ready and stopped second-guessing almost every romantic interaction he had with her.

Fitz really did feel like things were improving. Jemma kept up her slow but steady progress toward emotional healing, making a concerted effort to communicate what she was feeling rather than keeping it to herself. He did the same, and worked on not being so quick to anger, along with his instinct to be grumpy and rude to anyone he didn’t know who tried to speak with him. He apologized to Daisy, much to her relief, and she apologized for being a bit too invasive with her questions.

But as time went on, he started to notice a shift in the way Jemma treated him. It was subtle, but clear. She was becoming...flirty, almost. She was already perfectly affectionate in all areas of their life, but this was a new, added layer. Sometimes the way she kissed him was almost teasing, leaving him breathless; sometimes, the way she looked at him, even in public, made his heart race. Sometimes she clung to him in bed a little too long, or her hands drifted just a little too low. Fitz figured that maybe Jemma was pushing her limits, testing the waters to see if she was ready for more, and while he wouldn’t deny that it could be a little frustrating at times, it was a price he was willing to pay. He could be patient and wait her out, let her work through her issues in her own time.

But one night, when they were at the canteen eating dinner and talking Daisy down from her latest wish to hack into the Ark’s mainframe, Jemma put her hand on his thigh beneath the table, her fingers trailing dangerously high up the inseam of his jeans. Fitz tensed, feeling like all of his nerves had just been set on fire, and shot her a surreptitious glance. She was still talking to Daisy, acting like nothing was wrong, like she hadn’t just manhandled him in a very public area, but there was a certain lift to the corner of her lips that gave her away.

She didn’t move her hand for five whole minutes.

He swallowed thickly. He was more than willing to be patient, yes, but maybe it was time for another discussion, an update, just to make sure they were still on the same page. He could only take so much.

When they went to go dump their food trays at waste disposal, instead of linking her hand with his like she normally did, Jemma skipped ahead to walk with Daisy. They ducked their heads together, talking in low, excited voices, even laughing as they exited the canteen out into the section corridor.

Fitz trailed behind them, somewhat bemused. They’d been doing that a lot lately, talking in hushed whispers when they thought he wasn’t paying attention, and he wasn’t really sure what to make of it. Part of him didn’t care--it was stereotypical girlish behavior that he had no interest in--but if it meant Jemma was making friends and branching out, no longer solely reliant on him for socialization, then he was glad for it. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that all of their whispering and giggling had something to do with _him_.

“Daisy needs some help with her math homework, so I’m going to go round hers for a little while,” Jemma said once they were back in their bunk. “Is that alright?”

“Fine with me,” he said, watching as she slung her bag over her shoulder and reliving the memory of her hand on his leg. “Try not to hack into any government databases without me.”

Jemma laughed. “I won’t.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll be back soon.” Then she was gone, shutting the door softly behind her.

Fitz spent his time alone doing his own homework, then cleaning up around their bunk and doing some laundry. Getting ahead on their chores would give them more free time later in the week, and hopefully win him some brownie points with Jemma.

She was away longer than he expected her to be, returning long enough to grab her things and head for communal bathrooms for a late shower. He was putting away the last of their clean laundry when he heard the door open again, and turned to see Jemma slipping inside, clad in her fluffy bathrobe and carrying her toiletry basket in one hand. She smiled when their eyes met, and he smiled back before turning to close the dresser drawer.

“Have a nice shower?” he asked.

“Quite,” Jemma replied, setting her basket down on the shelf and crossing over to join him. She nodded at the empty laundry basket, then leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Look at you, being domestic. Your mother would be shocked.”

Fitz breathed out a quiet laugh, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. “Hey, now. Don’t be so surprised. I can clean when I want to. I...I’m just trying to make sure I keep pulling my weight. I want to be a good husband.”

“You _are_ a good husband,” she said warmly, and squeezed his elbow. “You’re the best husband.” Fitz ducked his head, still too shy to let her see the way his grin widened at her words, and turned to take the laundry basket back to the bed and slide it underneath.

“Speaking of being a good husband,” he said, “you should be proud of me. Earlier, I--”

He froze as he straightened back up to face her, his words and his breath congealing in his throat. She’d shed her bathrobe while he’d had his back turned, but instead of wearing her pajamas beneath it like she always did, she was wearing nothing but a tiny silk slip, cut low at the neck and barely covering the tops of her thighs. A faint blush was spreading over her cheeks as she folded her robe over the back of one of their armchairs, but when she looked at him her eyes were steady and there was a certain boldness to the lift of her chin.

Fitz blinked a few times in stunned shock, his mouth trying to form words, but nothing would properly come. “Wh--wha--I mean--um--uh--what?”

A hint of a new smile teased at the corners of Jemma’s lips. “What was that?”

He continued to stare. “I, um--where?”

“You mean, where did I get this?” Jemma looked down, plucking at one of the thin shoulder straps. It made the pale purple fabric shift in interesting ways against her body. “Daisy let me have it.”

He made a face. “Why does Daisy have--” He stopped, squeezing his eyes shut and holding up his hands. “Never mind. Not important.” Then he tilted his head as a thought struck him. “Wait, is this what you two were giggling like ruddy gibbons about earlier?”  
  
Jemma bit her lip, trying to contain a full smile. “Yes.”

He blinked a few times. It was hard to keep his focus on her face. “You planned this.”

She nodded, her smile now looking irresistibly coy. “I did.”

Fitz took in a shuddering breath, trying to keep his cool, but it was difficult. “You’re seducing me.”

Jemma licked her lips. “I am,” she said, before her smile sobered a little. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Especially after our discussions.” She inhaled. “I thought about me, and you, and us together, and...I’ve decided that I’m ready. I’m finally ready.”

A hot flush passed through Fitz from his head to his toes, white noise roaring in his ears, and what little circulating blood he had left immediately rushed south. “Oh,” he choked, barely able to believe it, unconvinced that this was actually happening. “Are--are you sure? Daisy didn’t bully you into this?”

Smiling again, Jemma walked slowly toward him, and he couldn’t help but let his gaze roam over her body, from the way her skin glowed in the lamplight to the way the silk hugged her curves, to the pretty blush that still lit her cheeks. It was ridiculous that he was so turned on, because he’d arguably seen her in less--they’d gone swimming together several times at the park back in Richmond--but this was a deliberate temptation, infinitely more tantalizing and thrilling.

When she reached him, she rested her hands flat over his chest as she looked up at him. “I’m sure,” she said, and though there was a touch of nervousness hiding in the depths of her eyes, her voice didn’t waver. “I want this. I want _you._ ”

Still in shock, Fitz’s hands hovered over her, unsure of where to put them or how to start. But Jemma started for him, sliding her arms around his neck and going up on her toes to kiss him with a passion that took him by surprise. She arched up into him as she deepened the kiss, pressing their bodies flush together, and Christ almighty her slip left absolutely _nothing_ to the imagination. When Fitz instinctively tilted his hips away from her out of habit, lest she feel the physical evidence of his interest, Jemma reached down to pull them back together. He let out a strangled groan as she rolled her hips against him with purpose, grinding against where he was already going hard, and took it as permission to stop holding back. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her with every ounce of need he felt, every ounce of longing, all the things he’d been keeping locked away inside. The way Jemma’s breath hitched as he pulled her closer, the way she whimpered as his tongue stroked over hers, was music to his ears.

When they finally broke for air, they didn’t go far. Their hands clutched at each other, unwilling to let the other go, both of them panting hard. Then Jemma smiled at him again, breathless and light, and her face held a world of promise and anticipation.

“Make love to me, Fitz,” she whispered, her eyes shining.

And really, what else could he do besides take her, kiss her, worship her, and do everything that she asked of him?

-:-

After, Fitz laid on his back in their bed, eyes closed, soaking in the calm. His limbs felt heavy, his mind blissfully blank. Jemma was snuggled against his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder, drowsily drawing shapes with her fingertips on his bare chest, and he was sliding a hand up and down the smooth expanse of her back. They’d slept together like this almost every night since reaching the Ark, but the warmth of her naked body draped over his and the skin-to-skin contact was breathtakingly intimate. Fitz didn’t think he’d ever felt so complete or content.

They stayed that way together in comfortable silence for some time until Fitz turned his face to press a kiss to Jemma’s forehead. “I love you,” he murmured.

He’d said that already. He’d said it several times in the afterglow, but it felt important, like something he needed to repeat.

Jemma made a soft noise and shifted against him, reaching to wrap her arm snug around his middle. “I love you too.”

“I know I keep saying it,” he added. “It’s silly. But I’m not sorry.”

“Never silly,” Jemma said, and she dropped a kiss on his chest. “I’ll never get tired of hearing you say it.”

Fitz grinned where she couldn’t see him as even more warmth suffused his body, and he sighed happily. “I’d marry you all over again if I could.”

“Really?” Jemma giggled. “ _Again_? A third time?”

He shrugged, tightening his arms around her. “Isn’t that what we do whenever we take a leap forward in our relationship? Get married?”

Jemma laughed again and thumped her fingers against his chest. “You’re bonkers.”

His grin widened. “You love it.”

This time, it was she who sighed happily. “I do.”

They lapsed back into contented silence for awhile. Fitz let his mind drift back over what they’d just done--awkward and fumbling at times but still incredible and so, so important--and smiled. He was looking forward to perfecting being together in that way, just as they’d done with all the other facets of their relationship. Any lingering body image insecurity he had was a small price to pay for the privilege of seeing Jemma fully nude and in the throes of pleasure that _he_ had given her.

Just as he was falling into the first whispers of sleep, Jemma murmured, “I’m so happy. I just...I wish my parents were here to see it.”

Desperate to not let anything ruin the moment, but still wanting to allow her space to grieve, Fitz kissed her forehead again. “What, see us like _this_?” he joked weakly.

Jemma rapped her knuckles against his chest again. “ _No,_  silly, not like _this._  No. But--happy. I wish they could see how happy you make me.”

“I think they know,” he said carefully. He wasn’t sure how much he actively believed in an afterlife, but it was comforting to think that Jemma’s parents were out there somewhere, watching over their daughter with care. Maybe not right _now,_  considering their recent activities, but--in general. A note of melancholy threaded through the love he felt at her declaration of happiness, knowing that even right now, her grief could still reach her.

“I like to think they do, too,” Jemma said, pressing herself closer to him. “And even before. My mum and I had a talk before the wedding. I was so nervous; I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted you to love me the same way I loved you. She tried to tell me that you did. That...I never looked as happy as I did when I was with you, and vice versa, and that she could _tell_. She knew I loved you. She always did.”

Fitz huffed a quiet, gentle laugh. “Is it funny that my mum and I basically had the same talk?”

He felt Jemma smile. “Probably, yes.”

Smiling too, he rubbed a circle into her back. “Years from now, we’ll laugh about it.” Then he inhaled. “But we’ll make them proud, Jemma. They’ll know. I promise.”

Jemma pushed up so she could look at him then, her arms bracketing his and her hair falling over her shoulders to tickle at his chest. Their lamps had turned off long ago, but he could still see how bright her eyes were in the glow of the amber nightlights. “I love you,” she said softly, before leaning down to give him a slow, thorough, intoxicating kiss. It went long enough that he felt himself begin to stir again with interest, and he ran his hands up her arms to cradle her face, deepening the kiss and feeling his entire body flood with heat.

When she finally pulled back, she regarded him with a knowing smirk. “What’s this?” she asked lightly, nudging his hip with hers.

“Sorry,” he managed, grimacing. “I can’t--um, I can’t really help it?”

Her smile widened. “Why are you sorry? I can think of several hypotheses I’d love to test out regarding refractory periods.” She shifted to trail her fingers over his chest, down to his stomach.

Fitz’s eyes rolled back into his head as he tried to bite back a groan. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was from arousal, or apprehension, or both. “Is this what it’s going to be like with you?” he asked, forcing his eyes back open to take in her bright smile, her sparkling eyes. “You’re going to turn _sex_ into an experiment? Just like my bloody metabolism--”

“I have a lot of theories!” Jemma cried, leaning down to pepper him with a few quick kisses, and he couldn’t help but laugh against her mouth. “And as budding scientists, we should seek to satisfy our natural curiosity with solid data collection, shouldn’t we?” She let the hand that rested on his stomach drift a little lower. “I’m sure I could make it worth your while…”

He gripped her shoulders as a full-body shudder went through him. “Okay, okay,” he said quickly, “You don’t have to convince me. But.” He reached up to cup her jaw and run his thumb over her lower lip, trying not to blush. “I--might have some theories of my own--that might need testing, so um--yeah.” He swallowed thickly. “Just so you know.”

Jemma’s smile was incandescent. “Excellent.” She pushed up and swung a leg over his hip, fully straddling him, and Fitz felt all the air leave his lungs as he stared up at her, thanking everything in the universe for his amazing, brilliant, smashingly gorgeous wife. They had all the time in the world to learn and grow and heal and discover new things about each other together, and he couldn’t wait to get started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the end again! Thanks for reading. I will probably always be up for revisiting these kids again, so if there's something you'd like to see me write for them, feel free to hit me up at eclecticmuses on Tumblr!


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